


something real or something wonderful

by cathedralhearts



Series: spiritus [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, Homesickness, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1375021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathedralhearts/pseuds/cathedralhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evgeni Malkin is thirteen when he soul bonds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something real or something wonderful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ceares](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceares/gifts).



> For ceares, who drew some super cute [art](http://ceares.dreamwidth.org/21076.html) for me to claim (and gave me more when I asked) in the [Reverse Big Bang](http://hockey-rbb.livejournal.com), as well as being lovely enough to let me tweak her prompt a little. 
> 
> Thanks to my betas Danielle, accidentallymelted and auhee for doing a most excellent job in finding my plot holes and tense abuse, and to matchbox and aohatsu for being utter champions and providing valuable and much appreciated input. 
> 
> Warnings and some key terms listed at the end.

 

\--  
 **soul bond**  
[sohl-bond]  
 ** _adjective_**  
1.  
the act of a person’s soul - as in the principle of one’s life, feelings, thoughts and actions in humans, regarded as a distinct entity separate from the body - creating an unbreakable mental (sometimes physical) bond with another person’s soul.  
2.  
a romantic or non-romantic link between two people that manifests through various mental and physical  attributes: a bond between two souls inexplicably and completely perfect for each other - considered the joining of two halves into a whole.'

 

* * *

 

Evgeni Malkin is thirteen when he soul bonds.

It’s not completely unheard of, bonding at such a young age. Those who can bond tend to do so between seventeen and twenty-five, although there are exceptions to this rule.

Bonding has been part of human nature since time immemorial, and it’s always been treated as a gift or a blessing, rather than a curse. That’s the official stance taken by the United Nations and the Bond Authority, anyway.

He can remember seeing a B.O.N.D officer once in his life before, when he was eight. The only reason he even remembers is because his best friend’s older sister had bonded to one of their new teachers, fresh from university and ready to mould young Russian minds. The B.O.N.D officer rolled into town one frigid January, and had taken Maritza and Mr. Yevchenko from their classes and into a rented black sedan. The officer wore a plain dark blue uniform with yellow piping, a thick coat and hat to match, with the United Nations sigil on his front.

When Maritza returned, pale and shaking a week later, she told her family that the Authority took them to the headquarters in Moscow, making them undergo all sorts of bond stress-testing to ensure they weren’t “faking” for the government subsidies, and even submitted Mr. Yevchenko to lie detector tests. Both of them were rattled from their time in the capital, and it affected them for months afterwards.

Bonding is rare and is considered more trouble than it’s worth, in Evgeni’s opinion. There are stories of people who reject them purely because of the people they’d be attached to, or the difficulty of their situation. People who bond across province or country lines, royalty who bond to peasants, good people who bond to criminals and thieves -- all kinds. Faced with all of that information, Evgeni vowed that if he bonded, he’d do it somewhere the agents couldn’t reach him. Or, if he was really lucky, he wouldn’t bond at all.

 

Apparently, God’s plan for him involves something different -- an outdoor rink and Sanja being obnoxious on the side of the circle as he faces off against a pale Canadian boy with hazel eyes, clutching his stick with a fierce expression on his face.

He’s in Finland for an invitational camp, a week-long show that’s meant to be an opportunity for scouts all over the globe to assess the new talent. He wasn’t sure if he was even going to make it in time, his parents barely scraping together the money for the flights, only just recovering from an injury himself before they were due to leave.

Traditionally, bonds require several things to “successfully” take.

1\. Eye-to-eye contact  
2\. Skin-to-skin contact  
3\. Acceptance of the bond

The last one is a little less specific, as there is conscious acceptance and subconscious acceptance. The doctors can’t explain it -- there are just some situations where a bond is so perfect it’d be a crime against God not to accept. There’s coercion into bonds as well, using guilt, blackmail and seduction to elevate social status and wealth. Bonding isn’t always the simple, pretty thing that the storybooks paint it to be.

So, it’s clear that sometimes you don’t even get an obvious choice in the matter, and all it takes is staring at a rival across the dot, a glove coming off in a spirited battle for the puck, and a knuckle brushing against a sliver of exposed wrist.

 

When asked, many years later, what it felt like the moment he bonded, Evgeni can only think to compare the shiver that went up his spine to the feel of his skates hitting pond ice, the powdery snow crunching as the steel cut through.

Shaking overtakes his body and a jumbled mix of foreign thoughts and emotions come rushing into his head, so fast and so completely filling up every part of his mind that it makes him fall over, landing right on his ass.

When asked, years later, what were the first words he heard Sidney Crosby speak inside his mind, it never occurs to him to lie. He figures, why lie about it? The life that he had known was over and in his mind, there was nothing more fitting than what was said.

_Oh God, no._

 

* * *

 

There is more, of course. Evgeni’s always being told off for his love of dramatics, for his stubborn nature and hot temper, his loyalty blinding him to the point beyond stupidity. When it comes to Sidney Crosby, it happens more often than normal.

There is some, _please oh god no not now_ and a little of _fuck I’m only twelve what the fuck_ and a pinch of _my dad is going to kill me_. Evgeni can’t speak much English, even though they watch all the American TV shows dubbed (badly) every day after school. The best part of a soul bond is that you don’t communicate in a language, exactly. You communicate in thoughts, pictures, feelings, sense memory, smells, colours, music -- whatever your brain chemistry and your soul chemistry (it’s a thing, yes) chooses.

Crosby’s first thoughts in his head (after the _no_ ) are mostly feelings, with a few pictures: a balding man with a furious expression on his face (one Evgeni comes to learn is his father), a woman with a soft smile and kind face (Crosby’s mother), and a toddler with flaxen hair and chocolate smeared around her mouth (Crosby’s sister).

Evgeni is curled up on the ice, clutching his head while Crosby hysterically yell-thinks in his head, and he can’t even reach to punch him to shut up. Everything hurts and it’s _too much_.

Sanja’s at his side, begging to tell him what’s wrong, but Evgeni can’t even choke out the words. They’re on unfamiliar ice, both of them selected by the Russian hockey federation to travel to the camp. Evgeni’s from Magnitogorsk in the south of Russia, and Sanja’s from Moscow, but he’s been travelling to the capital for years now to play hockey, getting to know each other through various summer camps and teams. He’s one of Evgeni’s best friends, and although he can be a freak and a massive asshole, he’s the one he trusts most of all.

He manages to point a shaking hand at Crosby, who’s also on his ass and looking like he’s an inch from dying as well, and says, “Bond.” It’s universal, the same word in every language across the globe; has been from the beginning of time, apparently. A sturdy boy is by Crosby’s side, hissing something at him in English and the yelling has stopped, but a litany of _oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck_ has started up in its place. He doesn’t know which he prefers.

“Tell him to shut up, he’s thinking too loud,” Evgeni moans at Sanja, who actually pays attention in English class and is passably fluent. Sanja delivers the message to Crosby, who shuts his mouth and then manages to shuts his mind. Everything is blissfully silent, but his brain is so anxious that it barely matters. Evgeni doesn’t know where he ends and where Crosby begins.

They manage to get off the ice and inside, blankets and cups of hot cocoa pressed into their hands by the staffers. As they’re in a major city, they’re then taken to the Bond Authority headquarters and placed in another big office, and told to wait while they contact their parents and find them an agent. A B.O.N.D officer appears within a half-hour.

Evgeni’s so tense he’s vibrating, the memories of Maritza being walked off into the awaiting car flitting through his brain so fast the colours and thoughts begin to blend together, and Crosby snaps something at him that he takes to mean _stop thinking_ , so he tries. He can do that, at least.

The B.O.N.D officer is a smiling, soft woman named Odeta, and she asks them basic questions. They’re hooked up to a machine that measures what’s happening in their heads, and Crosby’s thoughts have returned but now they’re just saying _this is dumb_ and _when can we get back outside, do you think?_ It’s the first thing he’s aimed at Evgeni that isn’t cursing or prayers, so he’s a little thrown. Crosby just looks irritated by that thought (he’s really going to have to learn to shield), and doesn’t try to talk to him again.

Their parents are summoned and everyone looks worried and withdrawn. Odeta talks in English, but there’s a translator bought in for Evgeni and his parents.

“Your sons have bonded, there is no doubt about it. They are measuring at a tier three right now, but that could increase or decrease when they get older. As they’re so young, it’s very uncommon, but a bond is a bond. I can’t determine any illegal wrong-doings here, so we’ll get you to file the paperwork through our office and have your sons organised with their pendants and official documents.”

The stack of paperwork the B.O.N.D officer presents their parents with is breathtaking, and they take both Crosby’s and his passports to be copied a billion times to attach to the documentation. Evgeni scrawls his signature on the bottom of every third page, and the translator haltingly explains things to him and his parents.

“Why is there so much?” Evgeni whines, his wrist cramping from signing his name, and Crosby echoes the sentiment in his head, tinged with something Evgeni’s coming to recognise as agreement. He’s nervous and pissed off, and wants to be outside on the ice. He’s also worried Evgeni won’t be as good of a hockey player as him, and he’ll be stuck with a useless bond for the rest of his life. Evgeni thinks something less than polite at his bondmate, who glares at him over Evgeni’s father, hunched and squinting at some bylaw in tiny writing. He just sniffs and turns back to the papers.

Finally, everyone has signed off and Evgeni and Crosby are presented with plain silver pendants attached to thin chains. One of them has writing on it, and the other has the Bond Authority logo -- a wreath with an interlocking pattern inside. It’d be kind of beautiful if it wasn’t a death sentence to his old life.

“This is your bond necklace. There are two pendants and if you lose this necklace, you will be fined for the cost of a new one,” Odeta says through the translator, handing the first one to Evgeni, who pulls it close to his face. It has their full names and years of birth, along with the city name and date to signify their bond.

Crosby’s pendant is the same, and he slips it sullenly over his head. Odeta’s duty done, she bids them farewell and leaves the translator for the awkward task of figuring out what to do next. Crosby is full of _won’t live in Russia_ and __no hockey_ and _what next?_ _ and Evgeni grits his teeth and resists the urge to bark at Crosby to shut the fuck up. It comes through the bond anyway, clumsy and uncomfortable, and Crosby colours red but falls silent.

“Can they try and live apart?” Evgeni’s father asks, and the translator turns to Crosby’s parents. They look at each other and look at Crosby, who shrugs.

 

The camp is due to last for five more days, but any hockey Evgeni wanted to play is soured by this experience. Crosby feels the same, underneath the almost overwhelming urge to get back out on the ice. So, they pack up their belongings and head to the shuttle to the airport.

Evgeni starts feeling weak when they get to the international terminal and he watches Crosby and his family head to their check-in desk. It gets worse the further away Crosby gets, and he starts to shake and sinks to his knees. When he looks up, his eyes watering at the feeling of needles pricking every inch of his skin, Crosby is stood facing him, his arms quivering by his sides, staring straight at him. Evgeni knows, can hear from Crosby’s cries in his head, that he is going through exactly the same misery. Crosby’s parents manage to drag him close enough that Evgeni can stop clawing at the floor and Crosby is able to move, and they stand next to each other, their bodies pressed together side-by-side as relief ebs through them.

“No,” his father says sadly, and Crosby’s parents nod. He doesn’t need a bond to know what’s going through their minds now.

__

* * *

 

It’s decided, with an uncomfortably short conversation through the translator, that Evgeni will join Crosby and his family in Canada for school. He’s thirteen, but they can attend the same junior high, even though they’re a year apart. At least that isn’t yet another problem they’ll be forced to manage.

As they’re recognised as a bonded couple, both families get a stipend from their governments to support their children, as bondmates sometimes are required to move to another location -- in Evgeni’s case, another fucking country. The first payment covers the visa and hiring a lawyer, the cost of a one-way ticket to Halifax (Evgeni doesn’t even know how to read the details on the ticket, until Crosby’s obnoxious voice floods into his head) and enough to pay his first semester of school, including money for him to live off in the meantime. He’s somewhat sated, knowing this extra money will support both him and his family. He’s too young to work, so the next few years will be tough, trying to navigate his hockey dreams and learning English while being in a bond.

It pisses him off that he has to move, has to go to Canada and learn English-- why can’t Crosby come to Magnitogorsk and learn Russian? He knows it’s a stupid thing to want; his goal is the NHL, to be the best in the fucking world, and he can’t do that from his small town in southern Russia. Crosby feels smug, which pisses him off more, before he seems to realise he’s broadcasting and shuts it down fast. Crosby’s getting a better handle on their bond, far quicker than he is. He gets the feeling Crosby doesn’t like things left sloppy or half-done.

 

The night before they’re due to fly, Evgeni spends it curled up in bed with his parents in the hotel room, crying over the state of his future. His mama tries to soothe him, and his papa just strokes his back helplessly.

“This will be so good for you, Zhenya. Such a good opportunity, good to grow your hockey and open your mind to the world around you. There’s more to life than staying in Russia,” Mama says, and Evgeni just clutches at her skirt and cries a little more.

Later, when he’s almost asleep, he feels Crosby nudging at the edge of his consciousness. His mind feels heavy and sorrowful, tear-stained around the edges. Crosby knows, can feel it all as he tries to settle inside Evgeni.

 _Sorry_ , he says.

 

* * *

 

Evgeni’s been on a plane once in his life, and that was to come to Finland for this camp. He finds Sanja that morning, Crosby’s father hauling his suitcase and gear bag to join Crosby’s in the boot of the car, and Sanja pounces on him.

“You fucking idiot, always trying to one-up me. Bonding to Crosby is just ridiculous,” he says, pressing kisses to his cheeks and following them up with punches to his chest.

“Like I fucking want this,” Evgeni snaps back, but hugs Sanja until Crosby clears his throat awkwardly and motions at the car.

“Enjoy charades for the next six months, Zhenya. Learn English fast, for your sake,” Sanja sighs, before yelling something at Crosby and heading back inside the hotel.

*

Getting to Halifax is exhausting-- Evgeni is a tall boy, and being squashed inside an uncomfortable economy seat between Crosby’s father and Crosby himself is not exactly his idea of fun. He doesn’t sleep for most of the first leg to London; Crosby’s having weird dreams about cheese and mice that keep him entertained. He starts an English workbook the translator had given him, along with a thick Russian to English dictionary.

 _English is a fucking stupid language_ , he thinks miserably while learning greetings. Crosby’s now dreaming of himself and Evgeni skating in an unrecognisable rink, laughing at each other and communicating easily. He rolls his eyes -- he’s fast learning this kid is as passionate about hockey as Evgeni is, which is reassuring. He doesn’t know if he could deal being bonded to someone who’s going to half-ass it.

They have a two-hour layover in London Heathrow, and both he and Crosby wander around the terminal, mouths open at the size, before Crosby’s parents shuffle them to their next plane, taking them directly to Canada.

 _You’ll like it in Halifax_ , Crosby thinks at him while they’re taxiing to leave.

 _Oh?_ Evgeni asks back, and Crosby nods, staring down at his fingers. The thoughts slip through before he can stop them; nervousness at having to start a new school year, the abuse he gets at games for being so much better than the rest of the kids, and Evgeni’s bigger and maybe he can--

The trail shuts off and Crosby goes bright pink, and anything Evgeni was feeling before slips away in the face of… well, not horror but he’s certainly disturbed. Crosby refuses to talk to him for the six-hour flight back to Canada, and Evgeni doesn’t push.

He’s better than the guys in his home team, always has been, but everyone has always been supportive and happy for him. There’s a few asshole parents and their kids, sure, but if the sliver Evgeni managed to catch before Crosby shut it off is just a glimpse of what he deals with… he’d better start learning English and bulking up sooner than he planned, because it looks like he’ll have a lot of assholes to take on. He may not like Crosby, but they’re bonded for the rest of their lives, and nobody is going to kick his bondmate around.

 

* * *

 

The first month at Astral Drive Junior High is fucking brutal, no bones about it. Evgeni’s thrown into an intensive ESL course, and he doesn’t even take any other classes-- just gets hammered with English four hours a day, with smaller breaks through the day. This schedule barely gives him time to do anything more than train after school, skate for a few hours, go back to the house for dinner, a shower, homework and sleep. His teachers are happy with his progress and he’s able to hold a conversation for longer than a few sentences, so they cut back on the lessons to once a day and slowly ease him into his regular curriculum.

When they arrived in Halifax, Crosby’s parents hustled them off to the doctor for bond suppressants so they could function without being in direct eyesight of each other. They took the pills every day, a half-hour before leaving for school, and while it was uncomfortable and his head felt fuzzy, he was able to exist like a normal human being once again. It never bothered him until the end of the day, but they’d always be together at that point, Crosby’s chatter filtering slowly back in as they caught the bus from school to their house. Evgeni was starting to notice that Crosby wasn’t really that talkative with other people, but with him it’s like he never stopped -- there was a safety in their bond that he was able to be comfortable in a way he couldn’t be with everyone else. It sent a lick of warmth through Evgeni, thinking about being able to be _that_ for someone, even if it was Crosby.

*

Crosby is at the dinner table the day the teachers tell him he can start going to normal classes again. His tongue pokes out the corner of his mouth while he starts to draft out a paper on World War II. Evgeni can hear him crafting his plan in his head before he puts his pen to paper, and it’s endearing. Evgeni’s a lazy student, but being around Crosby is… motivating, to say the least.

Troy (they’re on a first name basis now, even though Evgeni can’t bring himself to be like that with his son) keeps making comments about trying to get Crosby in to play midget, even though it’s meant for kids several years older than them. There’s no doubting his skill though; it’s breathtaking seeing him on the ice. Evgeni’s not bad by any means, but he’s all lanky angles, trying to figure out how to make his growing body do what it used to, as opposed to what it _wants_ to. But Crosby, he already has such perfect control and he is something special on the ice. Off the ice, he has a ton of weird superstitions and rituals that are more of a pain in the ass than anything -- including using the same cup, his refusal to walk past the opposing team’s locker room unless it’s physically impossible, and particular brands of peanut butter and jelly as a pre-game snack.

 _Stop staring at me_ , Crosby says, without looking up, and Evgeni’s snapped out his reverie, coming to sit next to him, crossing his long legs underneath. He’s in sweatpants and a school hoodie, a beanie ( _Toque, you’re in Canada._ ) pulled down over his unruly curls.

The sun’s going down in the kitchen window, the parents still out at work and little Taylor Crosby at their grandmother’s. Evgeni _loves_ Taylor. She’s the sweetest thing at four and all sunny smiles and a chirpy voice; a complete opposite to Crosby’s dark hair and hazel eyes. It took a few days for her to get used to him, but now she crawls into his lap and asks for stories, laughing when Evgeni puts on voices and plays with her toys. He’s only been here a month, but he gets the feeling that laughter like this isn’t frequent. They’re not an unhappy family, but they’re a different one to his own. It also helps when he watches her shows in the morning and evening with her, building their vocabulary together.

 _I heard you can start coming to class, now?_ Crosby says a few beats later, as Evgeni lists tiredly in his chair and wonders if there’s any leftover lasagna. Evgeni nods and Crosby nudges him, _Yes there’s leftovers_ floating across as he gets up and heads to the fridge.

He slides out two pieces from the Tupperware and slices them up, putting them in the microwave and sagging against the counter, knuckling at his eyes.

They’re playing on the school team, which means they spend an extra hour a night at school for training and skating, and Troy’s got a full gym set up in the basement, so there’s usually more weights in store when they get home.

Evgeni hadn’t started seriously training before he left Russia, but Troy’s focus on hockey development is something Evgeni can get behind. He doesn’t want to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger (Crosby had actually laughed when he thought of the actor in horror, his face comically pasted over Arnie’s when Troy showed him the gym), but he’s noticed his stamina is better, his legs shaking less and his muscle mass starting to improve. It’s the first time he’s heard Crosby laugh -- a weird, honking monstrosity that made Evgeni burst into laughter as well, a rough edge to the otherwise cool and collected exterior.

Thankfully he’s got his own space -- a spare room that was previously a study, but a few nights of sleeping on Crosby’s floor saw his parents moving everything out. The next day there was a bed, wardrobe and desk waiting for him. _They’ll take you shopping on the weekend for stuff, but uh… for now, it’s better than my floor,_ Crosby had thought at him while he stood at the doorway, his English still too non-existent for him to express his thanks beyond a mangled attempt at the word as gratefulness flooded across their bond.

The microwave dings as Evgeni floats on memories, on Crosby planning his Hitler essay and the smell of pasta and mince filling his nose until its done, and he slides them out and onto the table, resuming his place next to Crosby and blowing on the food.

 _Mmmm,_ Crosby hums, his thigh touching Evgeni’s knee. He likes it… they _both_ like it better when they’re touching each other, but Evgeni’s a little too resentful about having to uproot his life at the age of thirteen, and Crosby’s a little weird about everything for it to be a regular occurrence. They’re still trying to work out where they fit, and how to filter their thoughts so they’re not bombarded with everything all the time.

They eat their lasagna and Evgeni chimes in occasionally with points Crosby should include on his paper, neither of them moving when Taylor comes tearing into the kitchen and crawls up into Evgeni’s lap, her little hands banging against the table and her mouth stretching wide, demanding, “Lan’ya! Lan’ya!”

Trina and Troy greet them as Evgeni blows on the forkful of pasta and holds Taylor’s tiny, wandering fingers in his other hand, her back pressed against his chest.

“What say?” he asks in English, after the food has sufficiently cooled. She pouts, looking up at him and rubs her nose against the bottom of his chin. He melts, but tries to stay steadfast.

“ _Pozhaluysta?_ ” she tries, and he grins and laughs.

“ _Khorosho,_ ” he says, and hands her the fork. Trina looks on as Evgeni feeds her a few small pieces, not wanting to ruin her appetite for dinner. He misses having a sibling, even though Denis is a year older than him and he never got to do things like this. He thinks that maybe taking care of Taylor might make this whole experience a little less lonely, a little less shitty.

“Geno, you’re teaching her Russian?” Trina asks, and Evgeni blushes. It was difficult for the Crosby family to pronounce his name, so they’d decided on Geno. Taylor can’t even manage that, so she mostly calls him G.

“Small… please, thanks, hello,” he shrugs, wondering if he’s overstepped his boundaries. Crosby snorts from next to him.

“Mom’s not mad you’re teaching her. She wants you to start teaching me as well. I said it doesn’t matter, our bond isn’t really in a language,” Crosby says, his fingers clutching his eraser as he watches Taylor try to sneak another piece of pasta. Evgeni catches her and tickles her a little, grinning as she squeals and wriggles in his lap.

“I learn English, you learn Russian,” Evgeni says, and Crosby rolls his eyes but gives off waves of contentment until Trina starts telling them off for eating her leftovers.

 

* * *

 

There’s a Belarusian guy in his class named Alex who has the dubious honour of being Evgeni’s first real friend in Canada. Once he joins the rest of the student population, Crosby sees him off at the year seven corridor, his face drawn and tight, only uttering a _be careful_ and a _see you for lunch?_ before the suppressants kick in.

Alex finds him once he stops at his locker, like he has every morning, and pulls out his European history book.

“So you’re the bondmate everyone’s been talking about,” someone says in Russian behind him. Evgeni blinks at the inside of his locker-- a slightly worn poster of Kharlamov that Crosby gave him is staring back. Is he going mad? Can posters _talk?_

“I’m behind you, dummy,” the Russian continues, and Evgeni turns around to see a blonde boy with a buzzcut and a smirk on his face.

“How you-- Russian?” he asks, and the guy rolls his eyes.

“I’m Alex. I’m actually Belarusian. You’re Evgeni Malkin, right?” Alex says, waiting for Evgeni to shut his locker and follow him.

“Y-yes, uh. Why haven’t I seen you before?” he asks, slipping into Russian, and Alex shrugs.

“I wasn’t in intensive English classes, duh. I’ve lived here for five years now… could be worse. Could be back in Belarus,” he says and peers at Evgeni’s timetable.

“We’ve got history, Maths B and Geography together. You’re still taking ESL and the hockey team’s blocked out a decent chunk of your time each day, so. I’ve been told I’ll be tutoring you if you need it,” Alex says as they walk, steering him into their classroom.

“Let’s sit near the front, it’ll be easier,” Alex continues and Evgeni follows his lead, sliding into a seat and waiting for their teacher to arrive.

 

By lunch time, he’s got the kind of headache that makes him want to stay in bed all day, and he’s already taken three aspirin and it’s not making a dent. He flops down at the cafeteria table and waits for Crosby to emerge. He’s just glad he won’t have to listen to him talk much, both verbally and inside his brain, because he’s not sure he could handle it right now.

It’s so difficult to learn in general, but to try and learn in another language is almost impossible. He’s contemplating just dealing with the debilitating pain to get back home and trying to forget he’s bonded to a sullen twelve-year-old in a strange land, when a tray clatters down somewhere near his head. He moans, and he can hear Alex introducing himself before a hand rests on the back of his neck. His muscles, tensed to the point of snapping, all come undone, sagging in relief at Crosby’s touch.

“Help,” he mutters and Crosby sits down but leaves his fingers on Evgeni’s neck, eating with his left hand and asking Alex polite questions until the bell goes. He stands up, the headache receding into a dull ache, and he brushes his fingertips on Crosby’s bicep in thanks.

“How your day?” he asks, and Crosby shrugs. His face says it’s going shitty, but his voice is light as he talks, walking Evgeni and Alex to their maths class.

“See you at practise,” he says and then he’s gone.

“That kid…” Alex trails off, shaking his head as they walk into the classroom.

 

At dinner that night, he dutifully retells his day after Crosby finishes. Trina and Troy are happy he’s making friends and settling in. He is, too -- he can’t imagine being alone and bonded, struggling through both at the same time. He’s naturally social, and hockey’s forced him to become close with strangers faster than he would’ve before, so making friends usually comes easily to him. It’s why he’s confused about things with Crosby, sometimes. It’s not easy, even though they’re bonded. It should be easy.

Taylor keeps trying to throw food at his face from her chair. It’s a new game of hers, trying to make him mad, and she thinks she’s fucking hilarious.

“ _Ne shalit’_ ,” he says, clicking his tongue as he forks at some pasta, and she droops a little.

“ _Izvinite,_ G…” she pouts, and Evgeni smiles and leans over to press a kiss to her cheek.

“Beautiful girl,” he says in English and she giggles madly.

Crosby stays quiet for the whole meal, his thoughts like quicksilver around the edges of Evgeni’s tired mind.

 

* * *

 

The months bleed together, and Evgeni starts battling against homesickness once his routines are established enough for him to become complacent. He misses everything about his mama and can’t even make it through their weekly phone calls without crying, locked in his room and trying not to sob too loudly in case anyone can hear him. Crosby knows, he always does, and he’ll wait for a while before he knocks on Evgeni’s door and asks if he wants to come play Playstation or read and listen to music for a while.

It’s transparent, and what does a twelve-year-old know about battling homesickness, but being around Crosby keeps it at bay, just a little.

The hockey games are disturbing, to say the least. It confused him for the first game he played, when they headed out to warm up and Sidney didn’t wear his jersey. When he did pull it on, the parents started acting like animals and Evgeni had a stab of sickened clarity. They booed him every time he touched the puck, which usually resulted in a goal, and he was so shocked at the completely fucked up nature of what was happening, so much so it put him off his game and he sat the last ten minutes, watching the action from the bench. Sidney yelled at him when they got into the locker room.

It doesn’t get any better.

Sidney and Evgeni are on the same line and score goals every single game. It’s amazing, playing with Sidney, how their passes are perfect and he always knows where Sidney’s going to be, even with suppressants. It’s like there’s a thread joining them together, over inches or miles. However, the parents get more visceral with their abuse and start turning on Evgeni as well -- nowhere near as much as Sidney -- and Troy sits stone-faced in the stands, bundling them both into the car and taking off as fast as they can when the games finishes.

“Cannot believe,” Evgeni mutters after every single game, and Sidney punches him in the thigh and offers a weak smile. He’s a child and they’re booing him like he’s a fucking villain instead of the greatest gift to modern hockey. He’s a _child_ and this is how they behave?

*

His first call from Sanja comes off the back of a 4-3 loss, their first of the season. Evgeni’s holed up in his room, English workbooks spread out around him, when Crosby’s voice comes floating into his head. He’s been muttering about his book report on To Kill A Mockingbird for the past three days, and they’ve started working more heavily on blocking each other; this feels like a concentrated effort for Crosby to get through to him.

_Alexander Ovechkin is calling for you._

Evgeni blinks, wondering if he has misheard.

_No, you heard right. And he’s just as irritating as he was in Finland._

Evgeni’s smiling as he wanders down, just as Trina’s poking her head around the corner, her mouth open as if to yell for him, laughing a little when she sees him. Sidney’s at the kitchen table, similarly surrounded in piles of homework and looking pissy at the distraction.

“There’s an Alexander on the phone for you. Apparently Sid’s already told you,” she says, holding out the cordless receiver. He takes it and thanks her, going back upstairs to his room.

“Hello?”

Sanja’s Russian comes flooding down the line in an excitable mess, and Evgeni feels himself unwind as they sink into his language, flopping back on his bed and grinning.

“Evgeni, you motherfucker, why do I have to be the first to call you?” he yelps, his voice tinny from being thousands of miles away on a bad connection.

“Because I don’t want to talk to you, so why would I?” he laughs as Sanja cuts him off with swearing, segueing into updating him on everything he’s missing out on.

The conversation turns to Sidney and Evgeni’s bond soon enough, and he groans and buries his face in his pillow.

“It’s so hard, Sanja… it’s hard being here, learning English, trying to find hockey and being bonded. I don’t think I’m doing it right,” he whispers. Sidney’s not pushing at his mind and the weak shields he’s managed to hold up, shakily, are still there. It’s exhausting, and he’s tired and alone, a lot. He’s thirteen and Sanja isn’t any more qualified to try and help him through this, doesn’t know why he’s putting it on him.

“I hate that kid, you know? I hate him for doing this to you,” Sanja says, his voice low and hurt. Evgeni wishes they were lying on his floor together, Sanja’s shoulder pressed against his, gap between his teeth and horrible jokes and affinity for fast cars and reckless play.

“That’s not how it works and you know it,” Evgeni manages to choke out, and Sanja barks a laugh.

“It’s close enough. I’ll always hate him for taking you away from us,” Sanja says, and they lapse into silence, listening to each other breathe until Mrs. Ovechkina yells in the background that their phone bill is going to be ridiculous enough as it is.

Sanja says goodbye and Evgeni hangs up, clutching the phone close and wondering if there’s any tears left inside him. The Crosbys want him to go to counselling, to deal with being displaced and alone so young, but he’s a Russian; he can endure being bonded at thirteen.

This is the price he will pay for being the best at what he does, and for having found his soul mate.

 

* * *

 

Canadian Thanksgiving is the first major holiday he shares with the Crosbys -- at a different time than the American one, which he doesn’t understand and Crosby doesn’t feel the need to explain. Evgeni enjoys the huge turkey and the piles of food Trina starts cooking before dawn that day, enjoys the stockpiling of food and Taylor fingerpainting them brown blobs with red and yellow -- all turkeys and songs that fill the empty corners inside him.

It’s then that he is formally introduced to the Crosby and Forbes families.

 _My aunts and uncles and cousins are coming over, and both sets of grandparents. They want to meet the person I bonded to. We always have family over for holidays,_ Crosby says as they get dressed in their rooms that morning.

Evgeni’s pulling on jeans and a polo, sliding a plain jumper over the top. He’s unsure what to wear so he follows Crosby’s lead, and they meet in the corridor to get Taylor from her room.

It’s their responsibility to get her dressed, since Troy and Trina are busy with the preparation before their families arrive. Evgeni had been in her room before, watching her while he practised his English. She’s playing with her toys as Crosby bustles in and holds up a few nice skirts from her drawers, asking which one she wants to wear. Evgeni sits down and she crawls onto his lap, flopping down and peering at the skirts.

“None,” she says, and Crosby sighs.

“C’mon Taylor, you need to wear a skirt for Thanksgiving. Mom will get mad, just pick one!”

Taylor’s bottom lip starts to wobble, and Evgeni can feel Crosby’s frustration edging at his mind, cursing his sister for being such a baby, for being stuck with her, a fleeting wish for a brother like Evgeni comes up before he throws his shields up, embarrassed. Crosby’s are worse right now and he can still feel his emotions, leaking through like water through a strainer. He’s noticing when they get emotional over anything, it makes it harder to concentrate -- makes it harder to hide.

Evgeni brushes a kiss on her head, her hair escaping from the loose pigtails. “ _Pozhaluysta, Tetka,_ ” he says, bringing out the nickname he’s only used on her a few times.

It started after Taylor came into his room while he was talking with his mama, and heard her call him Zhenya before hanging up. She’d demanded a short name of her own, and Evgeni contemplated for a while while they watched Sesame Street (that day was the letter P and the number five).

“No Taylor in Russian… how about Tetka? Sort of,” he’d said. It’s a slang term for aunt, so it really doesn’t fit at all, but it’s the closest thing he can get to her name. She’d nodded her approval before demanding he come into her room and play knee hockey with her.

 

Taylor sighs and jabs a little finger at the blue skirt in Crosby’s right hand.

“ _Siniy,_ ” she says, grinning when Evgeni hi-fives her on the correct colour. She hops up and lets Crosby pull her out her sweatpants, wrestling her into a skirt and pulling tights on underneath. Evgeni’s on hair duty, scraping her blonde hair into a ponytail and finding a t-shirt that somewhat matches her skirt.

“Shoes?” Evgeni asks, and she shakes her head. Crosby’s happy he didn’t need to teach him about not wearing shoes inside, as Evgeni’s mama used to make them wear house slippers as soon as their feet hit the front mat.

“Okay, no shoes. Ready?” he asks, and she grabs her baby doll and insists on them letting her walk down the stairs by herself. Crosby goes down first, and Evgeni shadows her, but she makes her way to the bottom and grins at them. Crosby picks her up and heads into the kitchen, his earlier irritation gone and a warm affection suffusing its way into Evgeni’s head.

 

There are a _lot_ of people in the Forbes family.

Troy only has a brother, who is married and has two children of his own, along with their parents, but Trina is one of five and everyone’s got multiple children, some of them with their own families. As a result, there’s so many people in the house he can barely move.

The Crosby house is bigger than his house back home, much bigger, but the sheer number of people squeezed into four walls is alarming. As he comes into the lounge room, holding his stick that Troy had fixed after a particularly vicious knock last game, the conversation comes to a halt and at least fourteen pairs of eyes zone in on him.

 _Make them stop looking at me or I’ll start slashing with my stick,_ Evgeni thinks at Crosby, who appears like a jack-in-the-box, muscling his way past a fat, balding man with a ruddy face and a skinny young girl who keeps giving Evgeni the _eyes_. He shudders a little and Crosby skids into his side, slipping a little on the floorboards. Evgeni’s arm comes to hold him steady without a second thought. Crosby stiffens, and he’s about to let go -- he hasn’t forgotten Crosby’s complete dislike of personal space invasions, but Crosby manages to calm down and clutches at the back of Evgeni’s jumper. His fingers are warm, five points of pressure against his lower back that serves to ground him.

“Everyone, this is Evgeni Malkin, my bondmate. He’s from Russia.”

He pronounces Evgeni’s name carefully, his mouth rounding around the _yev_ sound and lilting on the _i_ , and Evgeni feels a flush of pride and doesn’t know who it’s from, nor does he care.

“You met in Helsinki at that hockey camp, didn’t you?” the fat bald man ( _my uncle Bruce, he used to play for the Phantoms but he got injured_ ) Bruce says, and Evgeni nods.

“Yes, we bond on ice. Meant to be,” he forces a smile, the bitterness that wells up inside him almost knocking him flat again. Crosby stiffens again and he’s had enough of touching, so Evgeni lets go and puts his hands in his pockets, Crosby doing the same.

“Well, that’s sweet… you’re awfully young but it’s good to see you both settling into your bond,” an old woman ( _she’s not **that** old, that’s my auntie Jessa, she--_ ) sitting in Troy’s seat on the lounge says to them, reaching to pet Evgeni’s arm. He feels like a dog in a prize show, and watches as one of the older cousins leans forward and asks to see their bond pendants. She’s pretty in a tired way, with a small child in her arm ( _Cass, she married a soldier, he died in Iraq, left her with three kids, she drinks--_ ), and Crosby nods and pulls it out from under his shirt. He doesn’t let them touch it though, and Evgeni feels weird that people can just look at the physical evidence of their bond like this.

“Finland,” she murmurs and Crosby nods, tucking it back under his shirt.

Trina rescues them a few moments later, stating her absolute need for both of them in the kitchen to help mash potatoes, and Evgeni’s strides ahead of Crosby, pissed off. He misses his own aunts and uncles, doesn’t want to have to meet a new family and pretend they’re his own, like what he had before means nothing anymore.

Crosby’s silent, focussed on mashing, and Evgeni tries to settle the low thrum of rage that’s lining along his edges. He should be thankful that Crosby isn’t a complete asshole all the time, and that his family are kind and decent people, that he can still play hockey and is going to a good school, but he misses _his_ people and _his_ home and sometimes it builds into such a peak that he thinks he’s going to scream, clawing at the walls until his fingers are bloody.

It must leak over, because a few seconds later Crosby’s voice comes barging into his mind, as usual. _You gave up a lot for us, for me. It’s hard, I get it,_ Crosby says. Evgeni snarls, not in the mood to be magnanimous, but he won’t back off.

_I mean it. You think I’m spoiled and weird, and I probably am… I definitely am, but you want the NHL just as much as me. You know what it means, so don’t act like this is the worst thing that could happen to you._

Evgeni is careful, so very careful, when he tells Crosby to get the fuck out of his head. He doesn’t want to hear Crosby’s preaching about the NHL, about hockey and their bond -- not now. Not at this time for family and love and closeness, of which he has none.

Crosby’s eyes widen but he obeys, and they work in an uncomfortable silence until Trina appears to take the turkey out. She frowns at them, taking in the space between them and the unhappy turn of Crosby’s mouth but says nothing, just asks them to make space on the bench for the bird.

They say grace while Evgeni mouths along, and Troy carves while everyone talks at each other, laughing and drinking and enjoying themselves. Evgeni’s wedged between Britta, a cousin at Sidney’s age with wandering hands, and Taylor, with Trina on her other side and Crosby next to his father, across the table.

Crosby keeps shooting glares at Britta every time Evgeni has to remove her hand from his leg, going bright pink at the attention, and he keeps trying to snap something at Evgeni but he’s worked on shielding. They have a bond councillor come to school once a week to help them ‘discuss their bonds’ and learn techniques. Both of them are committed to it, desperate to get a little privacy back, but it’s not like he doesn’t _know_ why Crosby’s mad.

They’re bonded, non-romantic or not, and Britta’s a year younger than him, so it’s pointless. She has no right to touch Evgeni but Evgeni doesn’t want her -- doesn’t want _anyone_ right now -- so it’s harmless, in his mind. Crosby disagrees vehemently.

 

Taylor’s got her fire truck plate with matching cup and cutlery, piled with turkey and mash and vegetables and gravy, and she keeps asking Evgeni to name things in Russian.

“ _Indeyka_ ,” he says when she points to the meat, and she mumbles it over and over until he’s happy, moving on to _morkov_ and _kartofel_.

“You’re teaching her Russian?” Crosby’s grandmother -- he thinks she’s Troy’s mother, but she could very well be Trina’s, he’s no good with things like this -- asks from her place across the table. Her husband, one of Crosby’s grandfathers, has been sneaking treats to Sam, the family dog, and Evgeni keeps snorting into his napkin because it’s hilarious.

“We want Taylor to be bilingual,” Trina says, shooting a look at her husband who shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. Troy’s mother, then.

“Isn’t she learning French at preschool?” she continues, and Trina nods, slicing into her meat and chewing for a moment. It’s a technique Evgeni’s noticed her implementing when Troy is pissing her off, or Crosby is being his usual self.

“She will, yes, but Geno is Sidney’s bondmate. It’s important that we respect his culture, especially after he gave up his life to move here.” Trina’s voice is hard at the end, and Evgeni feels a flood of embarrassment across the bond. Crosby’s squirming in his seat, looking just as uncomfortable as Evgeni’s being forced to feel.

“I’m not criticising you, Trina, I was just asking. I think it’s very noble that young Ev... eh--”

“Geno,” Evgeni cuts in, already bored of her trying to pronounce his name and wanting this conversation to end very, very soon. Crosby echoes the sentiment, his thoughts still coloured with discomfort but easing once he realises Evgeni’s not upset over the comment.

“I think it’s noble that Geno is teaching Taylor his language. Very noble indeed,” she says, turning back to her food and scolding her husband as he sneaks a piece of meat off his plate.

 

Evgeni finds it hard to swallow when Taylor pats his arm later that evening as they watch a Peanuts movie in the lounge room, and says, “ _Mne nravitsya Rossiya._ ” He tries to cuddle her but she’s just as uncomfortably full as he is, so he settles for running his fingers through her hair, having escaped long ago from his efforts to style it.

Crosby carries her upstairs as his parents start bidding everyone farewell, and Evgeni helps him undress her and put her in her pajamas, before they turn on her nightlight and leave.

 _That went less shitty than I expected,_ Crosby says as they head into their rooms, and Evgeni grunts as he strips and searches for his pajama pants. His mind is moving too fast for Crosby to try and catch up with and he crawls into bed and squeezes his eyes shut, focussing until Crosby’s mind goes soft and dreamy with sleep.

 

* * *

 

They break from school for Christmas and New Years, and Evgeni is duly recruited with Troy and Crosby to get a tree from the farm. Because that’s a thing here, farming trees.

“Is Christmas a big deal in Russia?” Troy asks on the drive there. Evgeni shrugs and picks at his mittens, folded neatly in his lap. They’re new ones he bought with his bond allowance, after his old ones caught on a gate. He also needs a new stick and he’s growing out his chest plate, so those will come out his next payment for sure. Can’t play hockey with ill-fitting gear.

“Not big, New Year’s… presents, party, fun.” He droops -- this will be the first proper holiday he’s missed in his life. He knew it’d come eventually, especially once hockey starts to become a real career for him, but he wishes he’d gotten a few more years with them.

“Your parents sent presents and a letter yesterday. We’ll put them under the tree with everyone’s else’s gifts, okay?” Troy says, and Evgeni nods. He’s not sure he can handle opening his gifts in front of the Crosby’s. He might just ask if he can take them to his room so he can call his mother and cry over the phone some more. Last call he barely made it past _Privet, Mama_ before he broke down. It’s getting harder.

 

They find a tree that passes Troy’s inspection, deep green and over six foot tall. They attach it to the roof of the car after Crosby and Evgeni take turns chopping it down, Trina setting up a stand for it in the corner of the lounge. Once they get it up and covered, Taylor helping in her usual exuberant fashion (they end up covered in popcorn), Evgeni takes some pictures with a mind to get them developed to send back home in his next letter. The only trees he’s ever had have been a few feet tall and filled with things Denis and he had made at school or with decorations from around the house-- never actual ornaments and a huge star on the top.

 _You like the tree?_ Crosby asks, and Evgeni nods.

 _I do, a lot. We don’t have trees like this, it’s nice…_ he trails off, his thoughts tinged with melancholy, and Crosby sighs and steps closer until their shoulders are pressed together. He wants to thank him, _should_ thank him for this, but he can’t find the words and Crosby doesn’t ask for them.

*

Predictably, Christmas morning is one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do in recent memory, second only to walking away from his family for this bond.

He’s bought presents for them all -- small things, nothing amazing, but they receive them well and thank him a lot, making him feel warm and happy. They’re all in their pajamas, cradling hot cocoa and the fire is stoked and the house smells of peppermint and gingerbread.

His first present from Trina, Taylor and Troy is new gear -- a new stick and chest protector.

“How…” he starts, as Trina hugs him and Troy slaps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing and offering up a smile. Taylor wriggles into his lap, smacking kisses along his jaw and cheeks, giggling when he tickles her, laughing at her joy.

 _I told them you needed new gear, I noticed your stick isn’t sitting well and your chest protector doesn’t do up right,_ Crosby says -- of course.

 _Thank you,_ he offers instead, testing the weight of the stick in his hands and humming happily; it’s perfect. He expects nothing less from Troy.

Crosby’s present is a stack of Russian books, freshly sealed from whatever store he got them from. There’s five of them; a couple on history, a spy book, a cookbook and something with a girl giving a coy wink that makes him flush all over. He can only imagine that Sanja had something to do with this.

 _Correct,_ Crosby thinks at him as he smirks a little.

“I figure one of us needs to know how to cook, and I’m rubbish,” he says out loud for his family’s benefit as Evgeni makes it to the cookbook. Crosby is rubbish at a lot of things, in his opinion, and it’s going to be up to Evgeni to fill that void.

His parents’ presents sit unopened for last, and he doesn’t even get a chance to ask when Trina hands him the phone and says lunch will be in a few hours. The Forbes family are coming for dinner, while Troy’s family are over for lunch, and the house will be busy and full again, like Thanksgiving.

When he opens the first box, his family on speaker phone, to reveal a food care package -- teas, biscuits, chocolates, a few sweaters that he’d left at home -- he loses it, sobbing his way through the rest. It hurts so badly when he has to say goodbye, his parents and Denis in tears as well, and he clutches the nearest sweater and inhales the smell of his mama’s washing powder, aching all over for his Russia, for his home.

He doesn’t even notice Crosby coming into the room, shutting the door behind him and standing at the edge of the bed, his fingers shaking as they reach out to him.

 _Geno, fuck, it’s so... it hurts so much… how can I help you, please?_ he begs, and Evgeni can’t do anything more than look up at him, his fingers buried in the material, feeling horribly alone.

 _You’re not alone,_ Crosby thinks as he climbs in behind him and wraps himself around Evgeni, pulling the covers over them and forcing his fingers in between, squeezing so tightly the pain from his heart shifts a little to his extremities. _I’m here, you’re not alone._

Crosby’s nose is cold where it rests against the back of his neck, bare from his haircut last week, but they lie in bed together for what seems like hours as Evgeni calms himself back down, inch by inch. Crosby hums nameless tunes between them, his nose shifting back and forth until their hands grow sweaty and Evgeni’s shoulder and neck start to cramp.

“Thank you,” he rasps out when Crosby pulls away and sits up, scrubbing at his face. He looks wrecked, just as bad as Evgeni feels, and Crosby nods. He must’ve been leaking his thoughts and emotions so badly, if Crosby had to come to him like this, shaking and unhappy. He feels bad for ruining his day like this.

“Geno, I’ll… I’ll stay with you when you call your family, if you want. I know it hurts,” Crosby says, rubbing his palm absent-mindedly against his chest, over his heart.

“Okay. I like that,” he says slowly, trying to figure out if he does or not. Crosby looks oddly pleased and leans closer, grabbing for Evgeni’s wrist, his fingers burning from their body heat against the bare skin.

 _You should probably start calling me Sidney now, or Sid. I stopped calling you Malkin a long time ago,_ his voice echoes in Evgeni’s head as he lets go of Evgeni’s wrist, crawling out the bed and making his way to the door and into the corridor on unsteady legs.

Evgeni sits in the bed, a little struck by the forwardness of the younger boy. He takes what he needs, working hard and getting ahead where he can, but when it comes to their bond he seems almost reluctant, never mentioning it unless Evgeni says something first. He figures it’s the least he can do, especially since Cro-- since _Sidney_ has a point. He can’t remember the last time it wasn’t Geno or Evgeni, either in their minds or from his mouth.

 

* * *

 

It’s not a stretch to say that out of the two of them, Evgeni is the more popular one. While his initial start at school was bumpy, given his lack of English, he’s settled well and has a few close friends he spends the weekends with, going to movies and riding their bikes around the neighbourhood. He doesn’t spend much time with Sidney, but time apart is healthy and natural… besides, Sidney has his own people. They’ve been able to wean off the suppressants for school as well, only using them on the weekends if they want to spend time in vastly different places.

They’re the only bonded pair in their whole school, which makes them an attraction -- a freakshow, _the most romantic story ever_ , and Evgeni hates it. Not as much as Sidney, but he wants to be noticed for his skill on the ice, not because he had the misfortune to bond to Sidney at a camp last summer. At least with his friends, he can ignore being bonded for a few hours and focus on being a normal teenager.

He gets invited to a birthday party for Alex’s older sister -- she’s sixteen and their parents are going out of town for the weekend, and Alex comes rushing into their history class, breathless and red-faced. He manages to get the story out and Evgeni grins.

 _Beer,_ he thinks with a grin, and gets a wave of disapproval from Sidney, several hallways over and suffering through his French class. Evgeni just rolls his eyes and tells Sidney to stop eavesdropping, and agrees to go.

*

For his first Canadian party, it goes… probably not ‘well’ but it certainly doesn’t completely suck. Nobody knows he’s only thirteen (almost fourteen!) so he gets pretty wasted, slipping into sloppy Russian drinking games with Alex and his cousins, losing badly in the Gran Turismo tournament set up in Alex’s room with more cousins and friends.

He took suppressants before he left the house, hoping something like this would happen, and he didn’t want Sidney in his head being a disapproving grump. It’s bad enough trying to shield while sober -- his first real foray into drinking would not end well if Sidney knew too much.

When he stumbles out the bathroom, Alex is laughing at him and the drink is turning in his stomach enough that he knows he probably should leave.

It’s after midnight when he makes it up the street to the house, heading around the side and searching for the spare key. He can’t find it and ends up throwing rocks at Sidney’s window until he appears, looking like a grumpy cat. Evgeni laughs and Sidney swears at him before disappearing and coming downstairs.

He opens the front door and grabs Evgeni, hustling him upstairs and shoving him into his room, indignant fury coming off him in waves so strong that Evgeni can feel them through the malaise the suppressants create, through the dull roar of the alcohol in his head. He manages to get his pants off and collapses into bed, dead to the world until Trina wakes him up the next morning at ten, knocking on his door and asking if he’s okay.

He lifts his head and throws up all over the floor, and Sidney starts yelling at him in their bond, which makes it worse. Trina helps him to the bathroom and he sits in the bath while Sidney glares at him from the doorway and she mops down his floorboards.

“That was a really fucking stupid thing to do, Geno,” Sidney hisses at him while he towels off, dressing in sweatpants and a tee before crawling back into bed, pushing Sidney out his room and shutting the door as he goes.

 _Promise me you won’t drink like that until we’re eighteen,_ Sidney continues from the other side of the door, while he tries to sleep. Evgeni rolls his eyes and tries to elbow him out, but Sidney’s stubborn and refuses to budge.

_Promise me! I’ve felt like crap all day, Mom thinks we’ve got a bug. I don’t like lying to her about your stupid stuff._

Evgeni wants the talking to stop, so he says, _Yes, I promise_ and Sidney allows himself to be pushed out, leaving Evgeni’s head blissfully silent and empty.

Drinking is going to lose its appeal very, very fast if their lack of boundaries and Sidney’s complete and utter pissiness at this is any indication. Yet another thing bonding has taken from him. Great.

 

* * *

 

The hockey season at school draws to a close and the Astros, not the most imaginative name, finish top of the league. The last game of the season is played a week before school ends and Sidney is presented with the team MVP, Evgeni finishing a point behind him but taking out the top goal scorer award.

He vows to come first next year in both MVP and league scoring, surprising both himself and Sidney with the idea, but pushes it aside in favour of cramming for their finals and finishing up his troublesome ESL paper on his plans for the break.

Then they’re free, the sunshine beating down on their faces as they stream out of school on the last day, whooping and laughing at the three-month break stretching out ahead of them.

“I’ll be in year eight next year,” Sidney says as they make their way to their bikes, and Evgeni grunts in agreement. He’ll be in year nine, fourteen and a year close to midget. A year closer to minors. A year closer to the NHL. Sidney echoes his sentiment, hungry for the perfect ice and bright lights of the show, and they cycle home for dinner.

 

Trina and Troy set Taylor to play in the den after dinner, while they take Sidney and Evgeni into the dining room and sit at the table they’d just vacated. They both look serious, and he can tell Sidney’s worried. According to him, the last time they looked like this, they told him their last dog was sick and they had to put her down. Sam was rescued from a shelter two weeks after, but this expression on their faces has only ever bought him pain.

“We need to make plans for the summer, boys,” Trina says, and Sidney looks at Evgeni, confused.

“Geno’s been here all year, Sid. He might want to go back to Russia for the holidays… be with his family for a few months, until school starts again?” Troy says, and Evgeni blinks. He didn’t even know it was an option. Sidney’s face has gone pale and withdrawn, and he can feel the worry starting to build. But-- _home_.

“Yes, I want,” Evgeni says, and Trina nods.

“We spoke with your parents last night. They moved house a few months ago, with the bond money, for you and Sidney. The new place has four bedrooms, and is close to your old rink. Geno’s Canadian visa has reciprocal rights with Russia, so it means you can go to Russia whenever you want, like how Geno was able to come here. It’s part of the laws,” Trina says.

“When?” Evgeni asks, excitement thrumming along his veins.

“Whenever you want. We can book tickets, get everything organised once you’ve discussed it,” she says, and with that they leave the two of them in the dining room.

Sidney’s upset, he can tell that much.

 _I don’t think--_ he starts, but Evgeni is hardly in the mood.

 _I’ve been here for nine months, Sidney. It’s time I got to go home-- you need to come and meet my family, my friends, see my life back in Russia. See what I gave up to come here with you,_ Evgeni snaps, and Sidney flinches.

 _I know, I just… I have a routine, with my dad, and I don’t know…_ he trails off, and Evgeni rolls his eyes.

_We can train anywhere. You’re being selfish and stupid. We’re going to Russia for the summer. I’ll stay here for school, and the NHL is what we both want, but I’m… I need to go home sometimes. I need to be back on Russian soil, please._

He’s begging and it’s so unbecoming, but he’ll take a million suppressants a day if Sidney refuses. He’ll drug himself until he can barely feel anything if it means he can go home.

 _Okay,_ Sidney exhales, and Evgeni whoops and jumps up, tearing out the living room to tell Trina to book the tickets for the following Monday.

 

* * *

 

Troy can’t leave work and Trina can’t get anyone to take care of Taylor, so they fly as unaccompanied minors, harassed by the air hostesses to Magnitogorsk via London and Moscow. They arrive in Moscow and Evgeni feels the tension flooding away as he sees Cyrillic and hears the familiar accents and hustle around him.

They have to change terminals from international to domestic, and he grabs Sidney’s hand and tugs him through Moscow Sheremetyevo with a hostess in tow, chatting away to her friend, pointing out things occasionally he thinks will spark his interest. Sidney isn’t interested, he’s uncomfortable and feeling off-balance, and all Evgeni can think is _welcome to my world, Sid, welcome to the last year of my life_. It’s a little more vicious than he intends, and Sidney shrinks, hunching up his shoulders, but Evgeni tugs on his hand as they head toward their terminal.

They’re on an overnight flight from Moscow, arriving in Magnitogorsk just before six in the morning, and Evgeni’s father has already taken the day off work to come get them. He’s so excited he can barely sleep, and is more affable than usual to all of Sidney’s weirdness. He lets Sidney have the aisle seat this time, in a block of two, and tries his best to rest and block out the feel of Sidney’s worrying.

When they stagger off the plane, yawning in the weak sunlight and stiff from the chairs and lack of movement for the past day, it takes Evgeni a while to accept the fact he’s home. They haul their luggage and gear bags off the carousel and head to the pick-up area.

Denis comes crashing into Evgeni first, screaming in his face about how happy he is that Evgeni’s back and how awesome their summer will be. Then his father appears, tears in his eyes as he squeezes the living breath out of Evgeni.

He turns onto Sidney, jabbering at him in Russian that Evgeni keeps translating in his head so he knows what’s going on, before he hustles them to the car -- also new. Evgeni’s happy his money is helping his parents as he climbs into the van, Denis up the front as he and Sidney squish in the middle, yawning and feeling gross.

“I need a shower, Papa… we both do,” he whines after his father escapes the airport and heads down the highway.

“Of course, Zhenya, you can both shower when we get home. There’s three bathrooms and a huge backyard, lots of space for fun,” his father winks in the mirror and Evgeni rolls his eyes but nudges Sidney, whose eyes have started to droop.

“Need to stay awake, make to six, then sleep,” Evgeni says and Sidney frowns.

“I have more experience with jetlag than you,” he fires back, but keeps pinching himself to keep awake. Evgeni spends the drive with his face pressed against the window, taking in the surroundings, soaking in to it.

 

The new house is beautiful, newly built and his mama has done a wonderful job decorating it. Denis gives them a quick tour as Papa puts away their bags and makes them breakfast.

Sidney heads for a shower first, not emerging until well after Evgeni’s done with his own and has explored a little, before Papa yells up the stairs that food is ready. He pushes Sidney toward the stairs and follows him down, Sidney’s mind a tangle of _exhaustedworriedscared_ that Evgeni knows only too well. He pushes him into a chair at the table as Papa serves up large plates of sausage and eggs and toast, a large samovar that steeps in front of them. Mama comes home just as they’re serving the tea, and Evgeni’s out of his chair and almost bowls her over, burying his face in her chest and trying not to cry.

Evgeni can’t stop talking as they eat, telling them about the hockey and everything he’s learned at school, about the Crosby family and Taylor and everything he’s seen and done. Sidney’s quiet, eating diligently and chiming in when Evgeni calls upon him, but for the most part sticks to following his lead.

Denis can speak some English, and takes Sidney out the back to have a hit around with some old sticks while Evgeni catches up with his parents.

“He’s a strange boy, that one,” Papa says as Sidney follows Denis, asking if it snows here during the summer.

“It’s been hard, living with his family. They’re very different than ours,” Evgeni says, working to keep his shields up. He’s not even sure what he can tell his family about the Crosbys.

“Troy is very driven in hockey, and he always has things for Sidney to work on, to get better with. Me too. It helps but it seems a little much, sometimes… the way he pushes Sidney, I don’t know. We’re young, but we’re bonded and it’s making things complicated,” he expands, smiling as Mama kisses his head.

“As long as you’re happy, Zhenya,” she says, and Evgeni sighs and lays his head down on her lap, looking up at her as she strokes his face.

“I’d be happier staying here, Mama,” he says, and her face falls.

“So would we, darling. But you know Magnitogorsk is not the place… you won’t get the same opportunities here as you are in Canada,” she says, and he presses his nose against her stomach.

Her fingers pat under his collar against the chain of his bond pendant, and he hums as he pulls it out for her to look at. She goes to touch it, but Evgeni pulls it back. She’s his mother and means the most to him, but this is not for her.

“Sidney Patrick Crosby…” she sighs, clucking her tongue against her teeth.

“I’ve got no idea how we’re going to play midget… no way is a team going to take both of us because we’re bonded,” he says, and Papa snorts.

“You’d be surprised how convincing the Bond Authorities can be, Zhenya. And I don’t think they’ll have to do much of that. You’re both incredibly talented. I think any team is going to be falling over themselves to be able to have you,” he says, rustling his newspaper.

 

* * *

 

It takes a month of them being in Magnitogorsk before Sidney relaxes.

It’s unsurprising and Evgeni tells his parents not to be bothered by Sidney’s quiet nature. He’s eager to please them anyway, all nice manners and constantly asking Evgeni’s mama in broken Russian if there’s any chores for him to do. She always pinches his cheeks and tells him not to be silly-- now that Evgeni’s home, he can do them.

But, slowly and painfully, Sidney comes around to the fact that for the rest of their lives together, they will spend summer in Russia as long as Evgeni is forced to spend the rest of the year in North America. He takes him to the rink he grew up on, to his old school and to his old house, the parks he’d play in with Denis and their friends until it was dark and they’d run home for dinner and scolding from Mama.

If Sidney’s shocked by their simple upbringing he doesn’t show it, in his mind or on his face, and Evgeni manages to learn more about Sidney than he had before. He learns more of his kindness to strangers, drying tears of little girls and boys when they’re at the rink or the park, and of his love of animals when they visit the zoo and Sidney spends the entire trip with his face pressed dangerously close to the enclosures. Evgeni buys him picture books so he can learn the animal names in Russian, and he spends every night solid for a week going over and over them until he can say them well enough that Evgeni’s mama laughs at the both.

Both of their birthdays fall in the summer -- Evgeni’s at the end of July, and Sidney’s in early August. He feels his first twinges of guilt on making Sidney spend the summers here. Although he spends his year in Canada and misses Christmas and New Years with his family, a birthday is something else entirely.

 _I forgot that your birthday falls in the summer as well,_ Evgeni says the night before he turns fourteen. His family are throwing a big party for him so Sidney can meet everyone, and all his friends from school are coming -- Sanja and his family are even making the trek down from Moscow to attend. He and Sidney don’t share a room, but Sidney spends a lot of time with him anyway, and has fallen asleep in bed with him a few nights this week.

He thinks it’s homesickness, Sidney’s thoughts tempered gloomily as he remembers birthdays passed before Taylor was born, and even after, with his little sister providing the entertainment for the day. _It’s okay,_ Sidney thinks as he fans at his shorts, trying to escape the heat. Russian summers are amazing, and Evgeni’s missed being warm to the bone like this, but he guesses Sidney isn’t exactly used to the sort of heat that comes to this part of the globe.

 _I’m your bondmate, and you gave up a lot to come live in Canada. I can handle missing a birthday,_ he continues, and Evgeni purses his lips but lets it go.

*

His party passes in a daze of presents and family rotating through his kitchen and living room -- Babushka and Dedushka are the first to come, and insist on pinching Evgeni’s cheeks and demanding to inspect Sidney.

 _What’s going on?_ Sidney sounds desperate, but stands in front of Babushka, sitting on a chair, frail and tired from travelling to their house. She’s Mama’s mama, her husband having passed a few years before, the story in reverse for his dedushka. She reaches out and pats at Sidney’s hand as he stammers his way through a “ _Privet, Mrs. Stropova._ ”

“Oh Zhenya, such manners on this little Canadian. Wherever did you find him?” Babushka laughs, her fingers smoothing over the calloused skin on Sidney’s fingers. Mama had called to tell her Evgeni had bonded, but this is the first time he’s seen her since before last summer. It seems like a life ago.

“In Finland. We bonded on the ice at a hockey tournament,” Evgeni says, Sidney following in his head as he thinks about his reply. His Russian is getting better, but not enough to wade through Babushka’s accent and old-timey use of Russian.

“You in love with this Sidney?” she asks, her brown eyes roving Sidney’s face before sliding to her grandson. Evgeni blushes hard.

“It’s a non-romantic bond, Babushka. Mama told you this.”

She tsks them and pulls Evgeni close, placing his hand over Sidney’s and petting them.

“No romance now, but not never, eh?” she asks with a wink, laughing as Evgeni pulls his hand away, feeling like his face is on fire.

Dedushka is full of similar questions but asks more about Sidney’s hockey capabilities than their possibility for romance, and Sidney’s able to hold up his own end of the conversation with Denis and charades long enough that Evgeni gets distracted when his cousins arrive. Foma and Galina are there, lugging along a bag of gifts, laden down with plates of food.

“Oh look, it’s big shot Zhenya and his pretty Canadian!” Foma announces, like the dickhead he is. Evgeni and he tussle for a few beats until Galina kicks them both, swearing until they let go and sort themselves.

“Galya, don’t be a bitch all the time, c’mon! We see Zhenya for a few weeks a year, instead of every day,” Foma whines as he straightens up his shirt, his older sister glaring.

“He’s bonded, and lucky to be so!” she snaps back, hitting her brother and laughing when he goes stumbling into a chair, almost taking the table down with him.

 

Sidney’s overwhelmed by all the people and the talking and the food, having trouble keeping up with the fast Russian being thrown around, but he settles by Evgeni’s side for the meal and follows Papa when he takes their prayers, digging into the food like he hasn’t eaten for days. Sanja and his parents arrive just before they start, and then it’s more yelling and more presents and Sanja sticking to his side like glue, greeting Sidney cooly in English before reverting to Russian the rest of the night.

 _My family like you,_ he thinks at Sidney, who’s focussed on trying to figure out what stuffing is in this particular vareniki. Sanja’s on his other side, slipping bits to the dog and trying to look innocent when his mother glares at him from across the table.

 _Of course they do. I’m Canadian, everyone loves us,_ Sidney chirps back, and Evgeni snorts into his drink. Galya kicks him under the table.

“No bond talking if we can’t hear!” she says, and Sidney goes pink when Babushka starts winking outrageously at them. Mama rolls her eyes and tells her mother to behave.

“They always have little conversations together… Zhenya reassures Sidney on things he can’t keep up with, isn’t that right, Sidney?” Mama says in slow, purposeful Russian, and Sidney chokes on his food but recovers enough. Sanja sniggers from next to Evgeni, who elbows him. Nobody can laugh at his bondmate’s misfortunes but him.

“ _Da, Mam_ \-- uh, shit, I mean, Mrs. Malkina,” he covers, absolutely mortified. Obviously Evgeni’s been spending too much time inside his head if the first instinct he has is to call her Mama. He winces, knowing Sidney will berate himself for hours after this, but Mama just smiles and leans over to rub her thumb against his cheek.

“Call me Mama, it’s okay,” she says, and Sidney nods and ducks his head, refusing to look up. It’s at times like this that Evgeni remembers how young he is -- how young they both are.

The rest of the meal passes smoothly enough, the family spilling into the backyard while the children play five-aside with a soccer ball and the parents stick to the back porch. Sidney’s laughing and happy, his mind free and floating easily between them, and they always stay on the same line, Sidney pushing out to the wing while Evgeni takes the center role and shoots down the middle of the yard. Sanja’s on the other team, a smirking bastard constantly foiling him, and Evgeni can’t wait for them to be on opposite sides of the ice, dancing the same dance since they were tiny.

When they collapse into bed that night, Sidney falls asleep in the spare room straight away and Evgeni listens to his dreams for a while. He watches as Sidney remembers the game, his own face taking up most of Sidney’s subconscious memories, warmth and happiness suffusing between them, so thickly and so completely he can almost taste it. He likes that he’s making good memories with Sidney -- wants him to enjoy his time in Russia, as much as Evgeni’s trying to enjoy his time back in Canada. Sanja and his family are staying for the night, and he’s on the other side of the bed, singing in the bathroom while he brushes his teeth.

When he comes into Evgeni’s room, he hitches up his pants and sits on the edge of the bed.

“So, your mama tells us you cry all the time on the phone to her, whenever you call home. Canada not all it’s cracked up to be?” Sanja asks, and Evgeni flushes. He wasn’t aware his mother was spreading word of his homesickness to everyone.

“It’s not like that…” he mutters, and Sanja snorts.

“It’s exactly fucking like that. You’re miserable and the Crosbys are just as shit as we expected them to be,” Sanja says. Evgeni shakes his head, his fingers balling into fists.

“The Crosbys are a wonderful family, and I’m lucky. I get to play hockey, I’m at a good school, and there are worse bondmates than Sidney. I am _lucky_ and I am _happy_ ,” he snaps, taken aback at the fierce desire to _protect_ that rears its head inside him. Even Sanja looks a little surprised.

“I wasn’t expecting that reaction,” he says flatly, and Evgeni shrugs, his shoulders tight.

“They are different than what I’m used to, of course. But they love their son, and they fight hard to provide me with opportunities. I have a good life in Canada. I miss my family, and I miss Russia… fucking hell, of course I miss Russia, but it’s a sadness that I don’t spend all my time dwelling on. I’m happy, Mama knows that.”

“Who are you trying to convince here, me or yourself?” Sanja asks, before crawling to the other side of Evgeni’s bed and tucking himself in. Evgeni huffs and lies down, turning the light off as he goes.

“I’m not trying to convince anyone. I don’t give a shit if you believe me or not.”

“Sure, sure. Good night, Zhenya,” he mutters, and Evgeni lies at the ceiling long after Sanja’s snores fill the room.

 

* * *

 

Sidney’s birthday follows a little over a week later. It’s tough, but his family sent presents and he calls home that morning, after Evgeni and his mama make a huge breakfast for him. Evgeni’s mama also slaves over a chocolate cake that will be the envy of every other cake for the rest of his life, one that makes Sidney grip at the corner of the kitchen counter, pure and complete _want_ almost knocking Evgeni flat across the bond.

One of the endearing things he’s discovered about Sidney is his love for sweets and candy, and his present is a huge container filled to the brim with all his favourites -- M&Ms, Reeses, Smarties, Gummi Bears. Mama slaps him over the head and tells him that’s not an appropriate present for his thirteenth. It’s a huge deal, but Evgeni assures her that it’s definitely enough, watches as Sidney turns a pleased shade of pink and thanks him profusely.

Sidney’s barely able to get his praise out to his parents, so Evgeni helps before he tells him that he put his presents from Sidney’s family on his bed, handing him the phone to ring.

They both throw up shields so Sidney has some privacy, but they’re still a little wobbly so the misery and homesickness begins to seeps through and hits Evgeni like a punch to the gut after a few minutes. He loses what appetite he has left and pushes away the rest of his breakfast.

“What’s wrong?” Mama asks, and Evgeni shakes his head.

“Sidney’s leaking through the bond, I don’t feel hungry anymore,” he says sadly, because he knows he needs to stock up on Mama’s cooking while he can, but Sidney’s emotions are too strong, and he can’t fight through it, not now.

When the call finishes, Sidney drops his shields and so does Evgeni, and it’s like trying to wade through molasses as he heads upstairs to be with him.

 _Sid,_ he says as he gets to the door, and meets no resistance so he goes inside. Sidney’s presents are sitting neatly by his bed, unwrapped and shiny with their newness, but he’s curled in a ball and clutching himself like he’s scared he’ll fly apart.

“I miss them,” Sidney hiccoughs. Evgeni hums and climbs in behind him, like Sidney had done for him months ago. He holds him together, their fingers lacing as Sidney sniffles.

 _I know how bad it gets for you, because of the bond… but this is so… I didn’t realise,_ he says and Evgeni nods, pressing his nose against the back of Sidney’s neck.

 _Now we both know how it feels to be away,_ is all Evgeni can offer.

 

* * *

 

Summer passes too soon, between spending their days at the pool and training, playing ball hockey with his cousins and friends from school and improving Sidney’s Russian. His family throws a party the last night they’re there to farewell him for another year to Canada.

Sidney spends the night blushing at the overtures from the girls that come from Evgeni’s old school, all flirting with him in coy Russian, fluttering eyelashes and grins. Evgeni can see why they think he’s pretty -- he’s got a nice mouth and a hockey ass, even for a thirteen-year-old, and there’s potential in his bone structure, in his pale skin and the dark hair set against it.

He will look very beautiful when he grows up, Evgeni doesn’t doubt it, and it’s kind of depressing that any girl (or guy -- he doesn’t presume to know what Sidney likes, given Sidney doesn’t even know from the fleeting, hot flashes that come when pretty girls and hot guys pass them buy) will have to compete with him for the rest of her life. Guys who have non-romantic bonds usually burn through partners, the jealousy of having to share with another person so intimately never sitting well, even with the most well-adjusted of people. Evgeni knows he’ll have to go through the same thing and wonders how it’ll ever work -- how they’ll be able to balance hockey and their bonds, and wives and children.

He’s having more thoughts like that lately; thoughts about Sidney in particular, and their future. It reminds him a particular hot day they had before they were due to leave, and he was lying at the edge of the pool. He burned a little on his shoulders, but Sidney turned the kind of golden that he’s grossly envious of. He watched as Sidney swum laps, racing with Foma, Oleg and Nazary, two guys Evgeni used to skate with on Metallurg’s youth development team.

The weather is oppressive and Evgeni was tired and feeling lazy, ignoring Galya’s snarky comments about the lack of potential in their town, wondering if Serafima from his old Russian Lit class ever hooked up with Slava -- if she’d be interested in a farewell make out at the party.

Instead, he watched Sidney win and start crowing, splashing Foma in the face and laughing as he climbed out the pool, water running rivulets down his stomach and shoulders. He stood in front of Evgeni, reaching for a towel, and Evgeni could only focus helplessly on tracking the water make its way down into his swim shorts. His chest was tight and he had trouble breathing.

 _You okay?_ Sidney asked, and Evgeni snapped back to attention. Sidney’s mouth was pursed in a smile, and his body was heaving from the effort of winning. Nazary wandered over and slung an arm around Sidney’s shoulders, laughing when Sidney winced.

“C’mon motherfucker, another round! You cheated,” he chirped in Russian, and Sidney pulled a face and shoved at him, dropping his towel on Evgeni’s feet.

“Fuck you, I did not!” he said back, his voice wrapping more comfortably around the foreign noises; more comfortably than they did at the start. He ran off after Nazary as Oleg cleared space for them to dive again.

Even now, thinking back to it, and other stolen moments over the summer, Evgeni’s mind keeps replaying Sidney wiping down, and the smile that was aimed at Evgeni -- at only Evgeni. Sidney, as if sensing his distraction, wriggles free of the latest girl who latched onto him and came to sit at his side, their shoulders pressed together and relief flooding across the bond. Evgeni rolls his eyes but sneaks an arm around him, squeezing once and holding on.

 

* * *

 

Evgeni cries when he has to leave, his suitcases stacked full with clothes and food and gifts from his family and friends. Sidney’s outside, having already said goodbye and thanked his parents, his Russian significantly less shit than it was at the start, and Evgeni hugs his mother too tightly, trying to inhale her scent to last him the next year.

“I wish I didn’t have to leave,” he says when he has the strength to pull away, Denis wiping at his eyes with the corner of his sleeves.

“Your life is with Sidney now, baby. You’ve always been destined for great things, and you want the NHL -- you two will be the best, together.” It’s a mantra his mother has been telling him every time he rings, and he thinks maybe one day he’ll believe it.

For now, he’s forced to head outside to collect Sidney, sitting on the stoop and flicking through a comic book, and Papa drives them to the terminal. He helps them check in and hugs Evgeni one last time, pressing kisses all over his face.

“Be good, Zhenya-- be a good bondmate, enjoy your time growing with Sidney. He is as important to you as you are to him,” his father whispers before letting the hostesses take them through immigration, handing over their passports dutifully. The immigration officers look at them with raised eyebrows as they take in the bond visas, and ask to see their pendants. They take them out from under their shirts but don’t remove them, and after a few dicey moments the officers stamp their passports and let them through.

Sidney reaches for Evgeni’s hand as they pass, and doesn’t let go until they’re boarding the plane, squabbling with each other for the aisle seat as the hostess looks on fondly.

Once they settle down and take off for Moscow, the first stop on a long journey back to Halifax, he notices that their bond connection is warm for some reason. It’s not in sickness but like… a soft happiness or something. It’s confusing; he doesn’t know who’s feeling it or why. He’s getting better at picking out which emotions are his own and which are Sidney’s, but he can’t tell, not now.

When they arrive in Toronto, fifteen hours and two layovers later, Sidney’s taken to thumbing his pendant, placing it between his lips absent-mindedly as they walk with yet another hostess towards their last terminal. He does it a lot; he’s a serial fiddler, always messing with something, and his necklace is one of his go-to’s. Even in church, the few times Evgeni’s gone with them before they found him a Russian Orthodox one in town, he’ll put the pendants between his lips while he prays, listening to the sermons and taking what he will from them.

Evgeni does the same; he’s reassured by the weight of the tags, telling him who he is and who he bonded to.

 

* * *

 

 

Troy wants Sidney to play midget, and Sidney feels the same, both of them frustrated with lackluster school-aged competition. They lobby the Minor Hockey Council to allow Sidney to play midget and they say no -- because _of course_ they say no. Sidney’s an amazing hockey player and driven to succeed, but he’s still too young, too small. He’ll get killed. So they sue, because it’s the North American way. Evgeni just rolls his eyes and returns to his books, still trying to work on improving his English. He misses a lot in conversation and wants to get better -- wants to _be_ better.

Evgeni’s hockey career, on the other hand, takes a slightly different turn. He’s drafted by the Valley Wildcats in the 2000 MHL draft while they’re away, but is told by the Council that he’s allowed to play when Troy petitions for approval on his behalf a week after Sidney. He grew almost a foot in Russia over the year and managed to put on a few kilos of muscle, so he can compete physically against fifteen to seventeen-year-olds.

Sidney, predictably, is sick with jealousy.

“Why do you get to play?” he whines at Evgeni, following it up with more whining in his head. Evgeni shrugs and watches as Troy calls Sidney’s agent, some man named Brisson. He doesn’t like the idea of having the same agent as Sidney, especially not if Sidney ends up being the second coming of Gretzky. Whenever they argue about hockey, which is often, Evgeni always says that Kharlamov was the best in the world, laughing at the undignified squawk the thought teases out of Sidney.

“Because I’m better than you,” he fires back, half teasing and half truthful. His game is less compact than Sidney, and he’s struggled to adapt to the smaller rinks and more physical play, even though they’re in fucking minors and it’s not supposed to be heavy contact. Everyone’s desperate to impress, so he just shrugs it off and works on his upper body to combat the hits.

When Troy gets off the phone, he asks if Evgeni wants the same agent as Sidney.

“No. Want agent who speak Russian,” he says, and Troy frowns but nods. They land on a guy named Barry a few days later. Barry’s Russian is passable, but it makes him comfortable so they sign a contract and Barry becomes his agent. Then they’re faced with having to decide how the fuck they’re going to make playing in Kentville work, when it’s located an hour away from Halifax on a good day.

 _We could drive you there…_ Sidney trails off. They’re in his bedroom, Sidney on his bed and Evgeni sprawled out on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. It’s been a more common occurrence since they got back from Russia, and Evgeni can’t find it in himself to be bothered. He’s taken to tracing the outline of Sidney’s face in his mind, the part he’s learning to slice off from their bond, floating on whatever thoughts Sidney’s throwing to him. Their relationship is changing, the longer they’re together and the more they learn about each other.

 _Impossible. I have games, training, school -- I need to billet,_ he says and Sidney’s thoughts go sour. Evgeni can’t help wrinkling his nose in response.

 _Suppressants,_ is all they can come up with.

 

“Unless you both move to Kentville,” Trina says, that night over dinner. Troy nods and Evgeni looks at Sidney, who is a little less sour at the idea.

“They won’t billet Sid unless he play, no?” Evgeni asks, poking his tongue out at Taylor, who giggles into her peas. He missed her a lot while they were away for the summer, and it seems as though he’ll continue to miss her if things work out. She’s been working on her Russian while he’s been away as well, which warms him to his core.

“You’re a bonded player, there’s laws when you’re this young. They need to take you both, or they’ll find a team who will. It’s not a problem,” Troy says, and Sidney pushes his meatloaf around on his plate, the thought upsetting him. Neither of them wants to be an unnecessary part of the team -- they want to be wanted, the best of the best.

 

The lawsuit from the Crosbys against the council is dismissed before Evgeni makes a decision, and Barry calls to tell them that Kentville has agreed to billet them both, even though Sidney’s a year too young.

Sidney can train with them, and depending on his ability, they might even sign a contract with him next season. Everyone knows who he is and what he can do, his age is the only thing counting against him. Evgeni squirms in his seat as Barry and Brisson relay this information. He doesn’t really want Sidney around while he’s trying to prove that the team wants him over Sidney, even if it’s just for a season.

“We’ll try suppressants for a while. If it doesn’t work, I’ll move to Kentville,” Sidney says by the end of it, catching onto Evgeni’s reluctance to agree. Troy and Trina look unimpressed ( _Geno moved here because you were bonded, how is that going to work if you’re not living in the same city?_ ) but Evgeni signs the contract and goes to pack his gear.

Taylor and Sidney come into his room while he organises, Taylor crawling into Sidney’s lap as they watch him fold sweaters and jeans, just like his mama showed him before he left.

He’s scared and nervous, and Sidney is too, refusing to leave his head but Evgeni won’t let him go, either. They both remember the airport, still fresh in their minds -- the pain Evgeni was in, the feelings that overtook Sidney until he was unable to move.

“ _Kogda ty vernesh'sya, Zhenya?_ ” Taylor asks, and both Sidney and Evgeni look at each other, Sidney’s face a complicated picture.

“ _Skoro,_ Tetka. I miss you every second,” Evgeni says, kissing her head as he walks past to get the fresh stack of underwear Trina had washed for him.

“Geno’s gonna come back. He’s gotta go play hockey though, but he’ll come back to us,” Sidney says, his gaze never leaving Evgeni’s. Taylor fusses in his lap, but Evgeni only sees his eyes, dark and sure.

*

Troy drives him to Kentville, Sidney and Evgeni sitting in the backseat, surrounded by Evgeni’s gear bag and suitcases, silent the entire way there. Sidney holds Evgeni’s hand, though, and once they pass the halfway mark, Troy looks in his rearview mirror.

“It’s time for the pills, boys,” he says, and Sidney reaches into his pocket for his bottle, Evgeni doing the same.

“We’re gonna make this work, Geno. If it doesn’t work apart, we’ll work together. Okay?” Sidney says as Evgeni throws the pill in his mouth and swallows. He nods, and watches as Sidney does the same. By the time they reach Kentville, his head has gone fuzzy and Sidney looks a little ill, only letting go of his hand to get out the car and pull some of his gear with him.

“Take care of yourself, Geno. Ring us every week, and if the suppressants don’t work, say something -- Sid will come to you,” Troy says, a hand on Sidney’s shoulder. Sidney still looks small compared to his father, but Evgeni nods and turns as his billet family stream out the house to greet them. They help take his things inside and Evgeni pulls Sidney to him, hugging him so tightly it makes him gasp.

“I’ll see you soon, Sid,” he whispers, before stepping back and smiling. Sidney’s eyes are red and he nods, sniffling and following his father to the car. Evgeni stands there until they disappear from sight, wondering if he’s making a big mistake by not insisting on Sidney staying. He wants him there, he just… he wants to do this, _be this_ , by himself.

 

* * *

 

The suppressants are as shit as they were last year, and it takes him longer to get used to them, having been without for the entire summer. They give him migraines and make him feel sick, his head thick and heavy for a few days every week, but he powers through because _hockey_. He’s playing for a proper team; this is the next step of his career and he’ll be fucked if he lets his bond destroy yet another thing for him.

The team welcomes him, a few of the older guys casting resentful looks, but Evgeni’s used to people being jealous, misunderstanding who he is and where he comes from. The coach is excited about what he can do, and wants to start him on the second line next game -- which is insane, given his age and newness. But, he works hard in practise, listens to guidance about his face-offs, gets bag skated and barely survives. He enjoys the company of the new friends he’s making on the team, between them chirping him for being bonded so young and for being Russian and weird, as well as whatever else they come up with.

His billet family are nice enough -- an older couple with a grown up son playing football in America and two daughters who’re around Taylor’s age -- and they’re sympathetic to his bond and everything that comes with that. The team doctors are constantly checking in on him, testing his suppressants levels and making sure they’re not fucking with his abilities. He’s not sure what to say; there’s side-effects, like everything, but he’s getting through it.

He hasn’t spoken to Sidney since he left, not sure if it’ll make things better or worse if he does, so he works on skating and school and homework, on being a fourteen-year-old and ahead of the game.

 

* * *

 

He’s the league’s leading scorer by the fifth game he plays with the Wildcats, averaging a goal and an assist each one. The guys in the room are ecstatic, and he’s been moved to center the top line between twin brothers Luc and André. All the guys on the team are in the same place; the area school only servicing to year eight before shoving everyone else into high school, no middle school between them. As a result, he doesn’t have to work as hard to make new friends, like he did in Halifax, as the team envelops him into their groups and he spends his time hanging out with them, playing video games and eating bad food and training.

He calls his mother twice in that time, and manages to make it through conversation without crying. He’s not sure if that’s a testament to the Wildcats or to the fact that he’s getting older, and finally used to living in America and everything that comes with it. She asks him how Sidney’s doing, and he lies and says he’s fine. They still haven’t talked -- Trina rang a few days ago to see how he was, but he didn’t ask and she didn’t offer anything. His mama makes a disapproving sound but leaves it, and he hangs up the phone feeling unfulfilled.

There’s girls everywhere, because of course there are, and Evgeni flirts his way through the weeks, enjoying the attention. He reminds himself that his bond is non-romantic, reminds the girls when some dickhead from the team mentions he’s bonded or they catch sight of his necklace. It doesn’t really change things, considering the weird shit he’s started to notice about Sidney, and he jumps at the excuse for a party that one of the guys throws at their billet housing as a distraction.

Sidney finally caves and calls him while he’s getting ready after the game, in which he scores a hattrick and an assist on top of that. _Malkin the Magnificent,_ they’re calling him, and he hasn’t stopped smiling for days.

“You’re making me look bad,” Sidney grumbles over the phone, and Evgeni laughs. He talks about school and the team, about his dad being pissed off that he can’t play midget and is stuck scoring most of the goals against sub-par competition. He sounds tired and withdrawn, and Evgeni bites down on asking him if he’s okay. Sidney’s responsible enough to tell him if things weren’t working.

“Have parents stopped yelling?” Evgeni asks, searching for his favourite jeans. They’re dark wash and will go with his Nikes well, and he bought new cologne yesterday in preparation for the party. He might be fourteen but he’s going to show these jerks up.

“A little bit, yeah,” Sidney says, sounding shifty. Evgeni frowns.

“They still yell shit, don’t they.” It’s not even a question, and Sidney sighs.

“They’re always gonna yell shit, G. They yelled even when you were here,” Sidney starts, and Evgeni balls his hands into fists.

“At least I there, you not deal with by self. We bondmates--”

“Yes, Geno, you’re my bondmate and you’re playing fucking midget hockey in Kentville. We’re not always going to be together, and I’m old enough to deal with this shit. The refs kicked a few out last game, and it’s… it’ll get better, okay?” Sidney snaps, and Evgeni feels the rage lick through him, but he lets it go when Sidney mutters something about dinner and hangs up. When Dan and Coots come to pick him up, the anger has mostly dissipated.

He gets introduced to Sadie, who’s a year above him. She’s got long blonde hair and boobs, which ticks all the boxes in Evgeni’s book. She giggles at his jokes and lets him hold her hand, and she kisses him when his billet family come to get him before midnight. It’s perfect.

*

He gets her number from one of the guys on the team and starts texting her, and she goes out on a date with him a week after the party. It’s nothing much -- a movie and ice cream afterwards. Her older brother is there with his girlfriend as some sort of chaperone, but she holds his hand again and kisses him in the movie, and again before they leave.

She tastes like peppermint and Evgeni might be a little bit in love.

He doesn’t tell Sidney.

 

* * *

 

It’s been a month since he moved, and he’s having a bad day -- the headache started early, and he hasn’t eaten all day because his stomach’s felt like a ship on a rough sea; all part of the side effects. The doctors give him something for the nausea and for the headaches, but they’re not working. He’s texting Sadie but she’s in class, so her replies are infrequent and never enough to distract him.

He’s on a road trip to Bridgewater when his mobile phone goes off in his pants as he’s trying to sleep, his head pressed against the cold window, Luc elbowing him as the card game in the aisle gets more intense. Evgeni usually plays too, but he’d told them it was a bad day so they’ve left him be.

He ignores the call and tries to settle back down, but it rings again… and again. He manages to fish his hand in his pocket without moving his head too much, flipping it open and jamming it against his ear.

“ _Da_ ,” he says, his usual greeting.

“Geno, thank goodness you picked up,” Trina’s voice comes across the line, distressed. His gut twists even more, she’d only be calling if--

“It’s Sidney.”

 

“Sidney’s in hospital. He took too many suppressants,” Troy tells him when he arrives in Bridgewater, leaning against his car in the hotel parking lot. Trina said something about the pills, but he didn’t know it was like that.

He tells Coach Greenough, his hands shaking, who then speaks with Troy and slaps Evgeni on the back.

“Take as much time as you need, son,” he says. Evgeni nods and shoves his bag in the car. Troy’s stony-faced and silent for the drive back, taking him straight to the hospital. Sidney’s asleep when he gets there, pale and sallow, his face drawn -- even when unconscious.

“Oh, Sid,” Evgeni sighs, sitting down in the seat next to his bed and waiting for him to wake up. Troy disappears to find a payphone to call Trina, and he sits vigil by Sidney’s beside, wondering what the fuck happened to bring them to this place. How could Sidney have gone so long in so much pain, to think taking more suppressants would help, instead of speaking out and telling someone? It’s all his fault.

It doesn’t take long, especially when he reaches out to touch Sidney’s hand and Sidney’s lashes flutter, his hazel eyes tracking aimlessly until they land on Evgeni’s face.

“Geno?” he croaks, his voice raw.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Why can’t I hear you?” he asks, swallowing and wincing. Evgeni shakes his head, squeezing their fingers together. He’s so worried, but touching Sidney again, even without being able to hear him, is better than anything he’s had with Sadie in the past few weeks.

“I’m still suppress, will take few hours to end,” he says regretfully, and Sidney nods.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to be strong, and I--” he starts, tears in his eyes, but Evgeni shakes his head and squeezes again.

“You should tell me, idiot. I want hockey but you my bondmate, no suffering. We promise, now. Okay? No suffer, no matter what.”

Sidney nods, bringing a hand to rub at his eyes.

“I’m such a fucking idiot, I’m so sorry,” he chokes out. He can feel Sidney’s need as if it were a real thing, hovering over them like a storm cloud, so he stands up and shucks his shoes off. It takes a bit of management, but he crawls in beside Sidney and turns them over so he can spoon behind, their fingers lacing together.

“We talk bad, not make mistake next time. I miss you, you miss me. Side problems no good, we work on it, okay?” Evgeni says. Sidney nods, pressing his back against his chest. Troy comes back after a little while, entirely unsurprised to see Evgeni in bed with Sidney, and tells them Trina’s picking Taylor up from school and is on her way.

“We’ll figure something out,” he says, taking up Evgeni’s seat and opening a newspaper. Sidney sniffles and Evgeni presses his nose against the back of his neck, a point of calm in the storm. Sadie’s texting him, asking where he is and why he left, but he ignores her in favour of Sidney. Sidney needs him more right now.

*

It takes two days before the doctors let him out the hospital, and Evgeni stays by Sidney’s bedside, playing poker and trading chirps back and forth, verbally and mentally. The team has given him leave for two more days; he’ll miss games, but it’s the last thing he cares about right now. Sidney’s sluggish in his reactions and replies, the suppressants having fucked with his head but by the time he’s checked out, they’re back to normal.

Sidney hadn’t been dealing with the negative attention of the parents so well, and between that and the side effects, more extreme with the headaches and loss of appetite, it had all come to a head that afternoon. He’d just wanted the aching to _stop_ , wanted to stop feeling fuzzy... and maybe two suppressants would work better than one?

“You most idiot, why not say?” Evgeni asks when they get into Sidney’s room, Taylor wrapped around his leg. She’d launched herself on him as soon as she saw him, refusing to let him go.

“Hockey’s more important,” Sidney says stubbornly, flopping down on his bed. He’s pissed off and embarrassed, but the one feeling underlying all of it is relief -- relief that Evgeni is back in his life, and back in his head. They really can’t do this split anymore.

“Not for health, okay. Come billet, get away from boos for small time,” he says, sitting down next to Sidney’s legs and nudging them, poking his tongue out the corner of his mouth.

Sidney rolls his eyes but curls up around Evgeni, pressing his forehead against Evgeni’s thigh until he puts his hand on Sidney’s head, burying his fingers in amongst the curls. Taylor mirrors the pose on his other leg, tracing patterns in his sweatpants. Sidney’s grown a little since Evgeni last saw him -- put on a few more pounds of muscle, gained an inch or so. He’s still shorter, still weedy for his age, but Evgeni bites down on his lip at the happiness he feels, being back with his bondmate.

 

* * *

 

Faced with Sidney having to enroll at a different school than Evgeni, their doctor prescribes different suppressants that are apparently more “easy-going” on the brain. Considering their situation, Evgeni highly doubts that, but Sidney seems happy and settles into his school, joining the school team and taking an A within a handful of games.

Evgeni’s the leading goal scorer on the Wildcats, even having missed two games, and Coach Greenough is full of praise for him, helping him work on his board battles and getting his physicality where he needs it to be. The team are nosy about Sidney to the point of being Russian grandmothers, and Evgeni’s constantly elbowing them away from his phone and away from any suggestions of wanting to meet him.

“Keeping Sid away from asshole like you,” Evgeni grumps when Luc and André try and double-team him in the locker room, Luc holding him down while his brother tries to steal his phone. They’re shorter than him, so he wins easily and beats them down while laughing. He manages to keep them separate until Coach says that Sidney’s welcome to join them for practise, and then it’s an effort to keep them from saying weird shit to him while he dressed. Sidney takes it in good stride, laughing at the chirps and skating rings around them on the ice.

Coach keeps eyeing Sidney as well, whenever he comes to games or practices, with the kind of look people get whenever they realise exactly who Evgeni’s bondmate is. Nova Scotia is a small island, but his notoriety as a teenager will never not weird him out.

 

Sidney comes to his school when practise finishes early and sits in the stands, watching the end of theirs and smiling as Evgeni makes his way off the ice and bumps his helmet against Sidney’s head, being as gentle as he can.

“Party this weekend at the twins’ place, you in?” Coots asks from his stall, while Sidney sits at the spare one beside Evgeni as he gets undressed. Evgeni looks at Sidney, who shrugs.

“You asking Sadie?” Luc leers, and Evgeni flushes right to his chest.

“Who’s Sadie?” Sidney asks. Coots laughs his ass off.

“Oh man, you haven’t told the bondmate about your girl? Shit, this is awkward,” he says, and Sidney frowns and looks at him.

“No girl, just… friend, I text sometimes. Not big deal,” Evgeni lies through his teeth, working as hard as he can to ignore the memories flooding through his brain about kissing Sadie, feeling her soft curves pressed against his. Sidney’s still frowning, and is quiet while they head to the billet house.

“If there’s a girl, Geno… it’s, I mean, uh. There’s always gonna be girls, isn’t there?” Sidney asks as Evgeni looks for a clean shirt to wear. It kind of wrecks him, feeling Sidney’s waves of discomfort come through their bond as the suppressants wear off, and Evgeni never wants him to feel like this.

“Sid, I-- if there boys, that okay too. I’m, uhm, we still… Not a big deal, okay? We have hockey to think about, yes?” Evgeni says, a hand on Sidney’s knee. He doesn’t look any happier, but their thoughts turn less melancholy, less unhappy, and that’s all Evgeni’s got in him tonight.

*

The party is great -- awesome music, good food, and the twins make them play Twister for an hour before letting them go free. Sadie’s there but she’s still pissed off about him disappearing with no explanation. When he introduces Sidney as his bondmate, her face twists up and she calls him a fuckhead and a liar, storming off with her friends following her.

“What’d you lie about?” Sidney asks, looking shocked. Evgeni shrugs, his chest hurting as he watches her run away.

“I not sure,” he says, as truthful as he can be. He figures this is going to happen to him a lot in the future, wonders whether it’ll be even worth trying to pursue anyone while he’s bonded. Sidney just takes his hand and drags him off to the den, where there’s a Playstation tournament set up with Crash Bandicoot. It’s Sidney’s turn to keep him occupied and happy, for once, and he doesn’t disappoint.

 

He escapes later that night and finds Sadie sitting outside, kicking at a fence. He sits down next to her, and she glares at him.

“I knew you were bonded, but not like _that_ ,” she snaps, and Evgeni blinks.

“Like what?”

“To a boy. It wouldn’t matter, either way. Girl, boy, it’s the same. He looks at you like… I can never compare to _that_.” She brushes her hair away from her face, and all Evgeni can feel is Sidney’s pleased hum when he wins another battle.

“You’re doing it now. I can see you just… all you can see or hear is him. How can I compare? I just… I can’t deal with this,” she says, and Evgeni sighs.

“Is not a big deal, bond or no bond, we can still--”

“No. You might not be a romantic bond yet, but you will be.”

She stands up and leaves him, disappearing back in the house to find her friends. Sadie’s hovering at the edges of his thoughts when he gets back home, Sidney flushed and happy from the evening, their bond resonating with the good as they tumble into bed.

He knows Sadie’s words are going to haunt him for a while -- not romantic _yet_?

 

* * *

 

They head back to Halifax for Christmas, Evgeni getting a five-day break from hockey and their schools shutting down. Sidney’s upbeat and excited about seeing his family again, and Evgeni planning to spend his second holiday break away from his.

It doesn’t hurt quite as much as last year, but it’s still not good -- the tree process is the same, and Taylor’s Russian is coming along to the point where they can communicate in sentences now, as opposed to single words.

She makes Evgeni and Sidney practise hockey with her as well, hitting slow pucks while she moves between the sticks in the basement, deflecting a few here and there. It’s both wonderful and depressing to see her little face furrowed in concentration, and he knows Sidney feels guilty. It’s obvious she’s trying for hockey because she knows what it means to their family, and wants to be part of it.

Sanja rings him before his family get the chance, and Evgeni sits in his old bedroom, taking in the posters on the walls and pictures from the year before, stuck to the corkboard. His desk and wardrobe are still there, with old workbooks spread out over them and a few shirts and pants he hadn’t wanted to take still holding court; it’s weird to think he’s already moving forward with his life, away from Halifax and the Crosby family.

“So, fucker, thanks for calling me so much from your new house,” Sanja chirps and Evgeni sighs. He’d managed to call him once while he was in Kentville before Sidney joined him, and wrote two letters and received a present stashed in one of the care packages his parents sent, of dirty magazines and a few new novels he’d requested. He has a feeling his mother had no idea what the smiling bastard had snuck in there.

“I called you enough-- it’s expensive and the billet family aren’t rich,” Evgeni snaps and Sanja laughs, hearty and full.

“Whatever, you’re on bond payments and your mama tells me you still ring her every other weekend,” Sanja simpers. Evgeni looks upward.

“I’m sorry for being a shit friend, Sanja, can we move on?”

“Of course, Zhenya. How’s life in Canada?”

He settles back and tells Sanja about the team, about crashing and burning with Sadie, and about Sidney coming to join him.

“He put himself in the hospital over you? God, Zhenya, you’ve got a crazy one there,” he says and Evgeni glares.

“Don’t say shit like that. He’s wonderful,” Evgeni snaps, and Sanja sighs heavily.

“You’re fourteen, don’t fall in love with him. It’ll end badly, especially if you want to go to the NHL. No room for bonded gays there,” he says, and Evgeni resists the urge to hurl the phone at the wall.

 

Sidney comes in when he calls his parents, and sits beside him and reads a book for school while Evgeni sniffles his way through this phone call, holding his hand. Dedushka has pneumonia, but he’s at a good hospital and they’re positive he’ll get better. Mama doesn’t sound worried, and Papa seems okay, but he loves his dedushka and the news makes him sad.

“My grandpa is sick,” Evgeni says as he gets off the phone. Sidney nods as Evgeni curls up, putting his head on Sidney’s thigh.

_I know. Soul bonded, remember? I’m sure he’ll be fine. He wouldn’t want you to worry._

 

* * *

The season ends with Evgeni taking the top goal scorer and team MVP, their team finishing second in the league in a heartbreaking overtime loss that’ll sit with him for weeks. Sidney’s subdued around him, even though their school team took the league and Sidney won a bunch of awards for his efforts. It’s strange but he appreciates it, and makes the effort to congratulate him on what he’s achieved.

“It’s okay, Zhenya. We’ll win stuff together soon,” Sidney says, not looking up from making his post-training sandwich. Evgeni rolls his eyes but leaves him to it, their bond resonating the kind of calm it hasn’t for a while, between finals and playoffs.

 

*

 

They head to Russia for the summer again, Sidney’s face just as drawn and nervous as last summer, but he adapts quickly and is easier with a smile, his Russian having come along while Evgeni was on the road with little else to do besides train and watch television.

Sanja is insistent they come out to Moscow for a week at some point, and his parents agree -- but only after their birthdays, when they’re sure that Evgeni’s old enough to be responsible enough for the train ride there.

“Mama, nothing will change between now and when I turn fifteen! We fly halfway across the world every year with no problems!” Evgeni exclaims, Sidney giggling from beside him as Denis shows him a comic in the newspaper.

“No arguments, Zhenya. If you and Sidney want to go, you wait until after your birthdays,” Mama says, in her tone that brooks no arguments. Evgeni sulks for a while, but Sidney cheers him up by retelling the joke Denis shows him, missing the punchline and flubbing the middle, but it makes him laugh regardless.

*

Evgeni’s fifteenth birthday is much like his last -- relatives and old friends come over and their house is filled to the rafters with people and happiness, most of them converging around Sidney to test his language skills and harass him for information about their year in Canada.

Sidney cherrypicks stories to tell them, aware that sharing the tales about their bond issues isn’t something to be discussed, and keeps diplomatic about his time in Kentville.

Dedushka is there, although more frail than he was last year, and Evgeni worries the entire time.

 _Stop it, you’re being ridiculous. Your grandpa is fine, he’s just getting old. It happens,_ Sidney snaps halfway through the meal, when Evgeni feels like he’s been watching his grandfather like a hawk in case he keels over midway. He pulls a face and Sidney chokes on his drink, but it’s enough for him to turn back to his conversation with Foma and Galya, while Sidney’s harassed by one of his aunties about his pretty skin.

 _She’s going to peel it off my face one summer,_ Sidney grumbles later that night, Evgeni crawling into bed, probably more drunk than he should be. Sidney’s had a few glasses of wine as well, so the bond is unfocused but warm and happy. It’s his favourite way for it to be.

*

A few days after Sidney’s fourteenth birthday, Mama brings out two small cupcakes with what looks like golden rings iced on top.

“Happy anniversary,” she says, and Evgeni raises an eyebrow.

 _What does she mean, anniversary?_ Sidney asks from outside, where he’s playing basketball with Denis, Foma and Galya. They’re playing two-aside and he’s on a team with Galya, because apparently they both suck and his brother and cousin are cheating bastards. It’s an uncomfortably warm day and the boys are shirtless, sweat pooling on every available surface, and Galya’s wearing an old t-shirt of Evgeni’s, tied up to show off her belly. Sidney hasn’t looked at her once, and it makes Evgeni wonder.

“It’s two years since you bonded, Zhenya. We didn’t want to scare you last time, but this is a special thing to celebrate. You’re fifteen now, almost a man,” she says, and Evgeni winces. It must be pathetic how little they’ve improved with their bond in the time since they’ve bonded -- they’re still horrible at shielding their thoughts from each other, their emotions leaking over too often.

“Oh, thanks Mama…” he trails off, letting her kiss his cheek and stare at the cupcake. It’s vanilla, probably with chocolate underneath, and he wants to eat it but his mind is racing instead. It’s been two years since that day in Finland. Two fucking years.

“We’ve come a long way,” Sidney says out loud from behind. Evgeni grunts, offering up the second cupcake as he sits down, sweaty and red-faced from exertion.

 _Not really,_ Evgeni says, and Sidney shrugs and licks at the icing. Evgeni watches as his tongue darts out and cleans up the white smear by the corner of his mouth, and shifts in his seat, warmth burning up inside him. Sidney frowns and looks at him, but Evgeni coughs and clears his throat, heading outside to take over Sidney’s spot on the court.

 

* * *

 

Sanja has managed to lose his virginity since last time Evgeni saw him, and he’s full of crude stories and eyebrow waggles. It’s disgusting, and Sidney knows enough Russian now to follow the flow of conversation even without the bond, and he’s looking sick.

“Okay Sanja, enough. We get it, you’re not a virgin anymore. Let’s talk about something else,” Evgeni exclaims, exasperated, upon the sixth retelling since they’ve arrived.

“Oh, does your little bondmate not like hearing the stories about how a real man acts?” Sanja simpers, speaking exclusively in Russian now. Evgeni doesn’t know if it’s to piss Sidney off or to help his language skills get better, but Sidney really dislikes him and Evgeni finds it hilarious.

He spends most of his time there with Sanja’s cousin Nikolai, who looks like Sanja but is a thousand times less annoying and plays soccer instead. Sanja’s also got an older brother Mikhael, whom they never see and it seems to suit Sanja just fine. Evgeni gets dragged out to stupid parties in the capital to make sure he hasn’t “lost touch with his Russian side” while Sidney stays at home and plays Playstation with Nikolai and works on his Russian.

Tatyana Ovechkina also takes him under her wing, insisting on teaching him how to make good food for Evgeni when they go back to Canada at the end of the month, and by the time they leave Moscow, laden down with presents and a backpack full of food, Sidney’s making notes in one of his books, the Cyrillic childish but passable.

 _You’re learning well,_ Evgeni says tiredly, his hangover pressing at the edges of their bond. He’s managed to train himself enough that he can drink without passing on the after-effects to Sidney, and while Sidney’s pissed off he’s out getting drunk, he never says anything anymore.

 _Haven’t had a choice,_ Sidney replies, pressing their arms together, their exhaustion mixing into a heavy malaise that weighs them both down.

 

* * *

 

Their third year together, while the other two can’t exactly be considered smooth, is where things really start to change. The problems begin before they even leave Halifax.

Sidney gets selected by the Truro Bearcats in the MHL draft while they’re away. Troy’s pissed off when he picks them up from the airport, but after two years of this behaviour, it doesn’t even cause alarm for Evgeni. He soon learns this attitude has a purpose, has a _beginning_.

“What am I supposed to do?” Sidney exclaims when they arrive home and Troy tells them.

“Play for them? New suppressants not as bad?” Evgeni asks, and Sidney turns on him, pink high in his cheeks.

“Fuck you, Geno! You know we can’t--” he starts, his voice breaking halfway through. It’s awkward and Troy doesn’t even tell Sidney off for swearing. Evgeni feels like an asshole, but the longer they’re bonded, the more this is starting to seem like a shackle as opposed to something beautiful and life-affirming. He’s always being forced into position, like a pawn in a chess game.

 _What are we supposed to do if we get picked by different NHL clubs, Sidney? Just wait until the Bond Authorities force the team to take us both?_ Evgeni rages, storming off upstairs, unable to process what’s happening with any other emotion besides anger. He likes Kentville, likes the team and his school, likes everything about being there.

“We’ll figure something out, Geno!” Troy yells up the stairs, and Evgeni throws up his walls. Sidney starts smashing against them, his rage building, but Evgeni’s been working on this and Sidney leaves him alone. He knew there’d come a time, soon, when he needed to be alone, the fighting tiring him out too much.

 

Barry calls him that night, after an uncomfortable dinner where Sidney and Evgeni refuse to talk to each other, tossing insults between their bond, charged with pissy energy.

“The Bearcats have traded for you for a defender and prospects next season,” he says.

Evgeni looks over his shoulder and Sidney’s staring at him, his eyes wide.

“Why? I not ask for a trade. I’m team MVP and top goal scorer last season,” he says, his fingers gripping the handle so tightly.

“Geno, don’t make this harder on yourself. The Bond Authorities stepped in, you know that. There’s laws about bonded players, even though Truro played fast and loose with the rules and Sidney was Valley’s property. They have something over Valley, and you got caught in the crossfire. Brisson and I are setting up a new billet family for you and Sidney, we’ll keep in touch. Hang tight,” he says.

Evgeni hangs up and sits back down, and Sidney’s pushing in the bond, anxious.

 _What’s happening? What’s going on?_ he keeps asking, and Evgeni looks up at Troy.

“I’m trade to Truro. Barry and Brisson work to find billets. Barry said Truro break rules but Valley trade me anyway, for d-man and prospects,” Evgeni says, his throat tight. Sidney stops pushing.

“At least you’ll be closer to Halifax,” Trina says, trying to wipe peas from Taylor’s hair.

“ _Ne grusti,_ Zhenya,” she says, placing a hand on his fingers. Evgeni inhales and exhales, trying to calm himself down. She’s right. He shouldn’t be sad. He still gets to play hockey, still gets to be in the league.

He just hates feeling this managed, like he has no control over anything. He wonders if it even matters anymore, the idea of being picked by an NHL team, if the Bond Authorities can step in and change everything with the snap of their fingers.

There’s been only a handful of bonded players in the NHL in the history of the league, and they were all selected by the same team, no obvious behind-the-scenes prodding and pushing like he and Sidney have been subjected to. Maybe the players have just been the best at hiding it all those years.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t even get a chance to stay pissed at Sidney for long -- they settle on a billet family the next day, a woman with three boys who went to play NCAA hockey and left her with an empty house and three dogs. Her name is Vera and she’s the nicest lady Evgeni’s ever met, and constantly cooks. Between her and the dogs and the food, Evgeni can barely be bothered to care about anything else.

The club is excited to have both Evgeni and Sidney, especially after the splash Evgeni made last season and Sidney’s general reputation preceding him. Their facilities seem decent enough and the schedule involves a little less travel than his Valley one had, and the schools are better -- on the same campus, even though they’re different year levels.

*

The first incident comes a few weeks into the season, where Evgeni walks into the showers to see three of the older guys bailing Sidney up against the far wall, surrounding him.

“What the fuck’s going on?” Evgeni barks, and he sees Sidney looking through two of them, utterly terrified, before his expression slides into one of bland disinterest.

“Fuck off Malkin. We’re just introducing Sid the Kid to life in the MHL,” Denisov smirks. Evgeni’s barely taken a breath before he’s crossed the room and shoves Denisov up against the wall, his elbow pressed into his throat and lifting him off the ground.

“Don’t _ever_ touch Sid again, you hear me?” he growls, his voice trembling with rage. Denisov chokes out an agreement before Evgeni drops him and whirls on the other two, who grab their buddy and scamper.

Sidney exhales and leans against the wall, holding his towel tighter against him.

“This happen before?” he asks, and Sidney shrugs.

“A couple of times, on other teams… they never hurt me badly or anything,” he says, and Evgeni sees red. He’s so angry he can barely breathe -- barely _think._

_Sid..._

_Geno, please calm down-- **Evgeni**. It’s okay. I’m fine, you’re fine, just… breathe, please,_ Sidney begs inside their heads, reaching for his arms as he tries to calm down. It’s astounding, considering they’re on suppressants today, that Evgeni can even hear him. It’s towards the end of the day, when they usually wear off, and the anger probably helped speed up the process.

“How can… why you never say?” he asks, and Sidney rolls his eyes.

“So you can go Russian bear on them? No way. I handle it in my own way. Guys get intimidated because I’m young, and I’m better than them. It just happens, like the parents,” Sidney says, and Evgeni groans.

“Sid, too young to think like this, God. Not have to, is _wrong_ ,” he says, and Sidney shrugs again and squeezes his shoulders. This must be what a panic attack feels like-- he feels like a caged animal with no escape, pacing back and forth.

“Thanks for stepping in. I appreciate it. I’ll let you know in future,” Sidney says, reaching into the nearest stall and turning on the shower. He hangs his towel up and steps in, and Evgeni flushes and averts his gaze as he gets an eyeful of Sidney’s plentiful behind.

“You have fat ass,” Evgeni grumbles, smirking as Sidney yelps in indignation. It’s not better, not by a long shot, and he really doesn’t know how his bondmate does this, how he deals with the bullying and the hazing and the abuse. At least he knows, is all he can think as he gets dressed himself. At least now he knows and he can stop it before it starts again.

 

* * *

 

Things settle after that -- as much as they can, anyway. He and Sidney tear it up on the ice, anchoring different lines but being used together on the powerplay. Goal hounds, the two-headed monster, bonded maestros -- all sorts of names are thrown around about them. Sidney’s constantly flushed and happy, their bond vibrating with joy as they come into their own, together. None of the guys give them any problems… but that may have more to do with the fact that he’s constantly glaring and hovering around Sidney, who gets pissed off but never says anything. He knows Evgeni won’t listen to him, even if he did.

The memory of seeing Sidney pressed against the wall, surrounded and alone, wakes him up in a cold sweat more than once, and the idea that he’s had to go through so much by himself, even after they bonded, is more than he can stand.

At school, the girls are all over them; winners, talented and cocky, and Evgeni’s the worst of them all. Between his accent and his looks; he’s grown taller again and is working hard to put muscle on his bones, they flock to him. He’s always surrounded at lunch times with the team and their admirers.

He’s a superstar, one of the touched ones, and he’s on top of the world but Sidney’s always barely an arm’s length away, always within eyesight. Always _there_.

 

* * *

 

He loses his virginity at a house party thrown a month before Christmas, with a girl from his Algebra class. Her name is Jessica and she’s blonde and all curves, so different to Sadie but at the same time, uncomfortably similar. She’s older than he is, a year or so, but she’s kind and talks him through it.

His shields slip for an instant and Sidney comes stumbling inside his head, asking him if he’s okay, reeling as everything rushes over him in a blast of light and emotion. Evgeni manages to shove him back out as Jessica pushes him off, pulling her underwear back on.

“Was okay?” he asks, breathless. She smiles at him and leans in, kissing him.

“Thanks Geno,” she says, and asks if he’s her boyfriend now. He says yes, of course.

 

* * *

 

Sidney’s pissed. He’s beyond pissed, actually.

It goes on for months. _Months_ of Sidney sulking, refusing to let him inside his head and shying away from his touch. It fucks with his game and their powerplay unit suffers, and Evgeni’s sick of trying to get through to him when he refuses. Sidney’s still racking up points all over the place, as if it’s harder for him _not_ to score. He never lets off-ice things impact his play, and he glares at Evgeni when he comes off yet another crappy shift, swearing and shitty, as if it’s not all his fucking fault that Evgeni’s like this.

It lasts through them going back to Halifax for Christmas, Sidney subdued and silent inside his head. It’s like he’s on suppressants, but it’s worse because Evgeni knows there’s nothing stopping him but Sidney. It hurts him, that he won’t talk to him, that he’s being shut out like this. He’s tried so many times; tried to corner him, tried yelling and banging on his door, tried quietly asking on the bus to school -- nothing. Sidney ignores him, the shields stay up (when did he get so good at shielding is what Evgeni wants to know) and Evgeni’s left out.

He tells this to Jessica on the phone, unhappy on Christmas Eve in his old room. Taylor’s stuck between them -- trying to comfort Sidney in her own way, but Evgeni’s there too, in need of her attention and her love.

“Maybe he’s jealous because I’m with you?” she says, and Evgeni scoffs and ignores it… but it sticks with him. It only started after they got together, Sidney snapping at him for days until he stopped talking entirely. Whenever he looks at Evgeni, he’s frustrated and upset, and Evgeni wonders if this is what Sidney felt like when he was in Kentville, having left him behind. Wonders if this is some sort of delayed payback.

 

“Sid’s sad,” Taylor says that night, flopped on his bed, over Evgeni’s torso. His feet hang over the edge now, and Trina keeps wincing when he looks at him, saying it looks like he’s going to break his legs, he’s all skin and bone.

“ _Ya znayu_. He doesn’t want talk to me,” he says. She yawns and rubs her face.

“ _Sidney ne lyubit_ being alone. Maybe he’s scared you’ll break,” she says, and Evgeni blinks.

“Break? What you mean, break?”

She shrugs, playing with the hem of her sleep shirt. It has Tweety Bird on it, yelling about cats. “Break up, I guess.”

“Can’t break up, bonded. Never break up, until die,” Evgeni says. Taylor knows all of this -- she’s taking the same classes that’re mandated across the globe about bonding. She’s only young, but they teach that from the beginning. Once you bond, that’s it. For life.

“Mommy says Sid is bad at talking… that he was sad, before he bonded to you. You’re his sunshine, Zhenya,” Taylor says, walking her fingers up and down his arm. Evgeni freezes.

“Sunshine?” he croaks out.

“Yeah. When you aren’t around, Sid’s sad and there’s clouds… but when you’re here, it’s always sunshine. He’s always happy. Maybe something happened to make the clouds come,” Taylor says, and Evgeni stares up at his ceiling while he pets her hair, thinking.

Bonds initially start off as non-romantic. They’re mostly between people who aren’t related, bar twins -- for some reason, twins tend to bond to each other. But, people who are bonded tend to fall in love easier. Maybe it’s because you know every second of every day what’s happening with that person, their deepest fears and thoughts, all laid bare for you to see. It’s a soul thing, an inevitable force of nature that humanity is powerless to hide themselves from.

For better or for worse, you’re tied to one another until you draw your last breath, and what’s left behind is not worth living for. It’s romantic, elemental, perfect. Damaged and wildly flawed people crashing together in an explosion of Godly grace and a larger plan. Not everyone bonds; maybe one in twenty couples, and even then the tiers vary. Bonds change, they become deeper and stronger as time goes on.

It’s the best and worst of love, of togetherness. Of his and Sidney’s love and togetherness, whatever that is. Maybe he did something to make Sidney upset, or maybe Sidney’s working through his own thing. Either way, all he can do is wait.

 

* * *

 

Sidney’s still not talking to him when the Bond Authorities send them a letter with an appointment time in Toronto a few weeks after New Years.

“You’re supposed to be playing Woodstock,” Vera says, peering at their schedule stuck to the fridge. Sidney’s inhaling his pasta while Evgeni twirls his on his spoon, wondering if he wants another bite of garlic bread.

“Will have to go, can’t negotiate,” Evgeni says, and she looks worried.

“I’m going to call your parents,” she says, and gets up from the table. The dogs are under the table, covering their feet while they eat, whining for scraps. Evgeni decides to poke at the bond, and finds its more open than it has been before. Sidney doesn’t shove him out, and Evgeni’s almost forgotten how it feels. He can tell Sidney likes the food by the happy hum that surrounds him, enveloping himself in the warmth that he’s missed, but that’s all Sidney lets him see or lets him feel.

He hides there, for a while. Sidney knows he’s here but he’s sad and lonely, worried about the Bond Authorities, and Sidney lets him stay for whatever reason.

Vera comes back in and says she’ll contact the team and tell them they’ll have to miss the game, and will accompany them to Toronto since they’re still underaged. Evgeni doesn’t turn sixteen for a long while yet, and Sidney’s even further behind than that.

*

He’s messing around with Jessica, his hand up her shirt and his mouth gliding over hers, when Sidney starts banging on the wall. They’re due to drive to Toronto at ass o’clock the next morning, and he’s trying to have an enjoyable last few hours as possible. He’d already snuck Jessica inside once Vera went to bed, and he must’ve been leaking across the bond.

 _Sorry,_ he throws back, but it meets a wall, like everything has lately. He grits his teeth and Jessica sighs, sitting up and his hand falls away onto the bed.

“I should go. Call me when you get to Toronto,” she says, straightening her skirt and kissing him one last time, before climbing out the window and sneaking to her car. Evgeni grits his teeth and gets up, readjusting his boner and padding down the corridor to Sidney’s room.

The door wrenches open before Evgeni even gets a hand to it, and Sidney pulls him inside and shuts it.

“For fuck’s sake, I can’t-- keep it in your goddamned pants or work on your shielding, because I’m sick and fucking tired of having to listen to you and Jessica go at it!” Sidney snarls, rage on his face. Evgeni’s kind of struck at how pretty he looks, the pink high on his cheeks and his curls messed, his chest heaving from the exertion. And oh… _oh._ His boxers are tented.

“Fuck, sorry, didn’t know--” he starts, but Sidney shoves past him and crawls into bed, pulling the covers over him.

“Sid, please… don’t shut me out,” Evgeni says. Sidney refuses to move from his sheet mound.

He stands there for a little while longer, completely deflated, before he turns and leaves. At least now he sort of knows why things have been horrible.

 

* * *

 

The Bond Authority office in Toronto is huge, stretching high above the ground, so high Evgeni almost falls backwards trying to look up at it. Vera hustles them inside, and Evgeni and Sidney flash their pendants and are shown the floor their meeting will take place in.

“It’s a bond judgement. It’s not bad, it’s just to see how you’re progressing. They always do it a few years after the bond starts,” Vera says, patting Sidney’s shoulder. He flinches but she doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, and Evgeni grits his teeth and stares at the wall.

 

True to Vera’s prediction, they’re hooked up to more wired boxes, separated, and are asked questions about what the other is thinking and feeling, more stupid stuff like they were asked when they first bonded. The B.O.N.D officers make them fill out a questionnaire, and Evgeni’s muddles through it, allowed to see Sidney again once he’s done.

“So, by the looks of it,” an older man with the name badge of _Frank Underwood_ says, “Your bond has settled at a tier four.”

“Four?” Sidney gasps out, and Evgeni feels just as shocked. That’s… strong. Most bonds hover around tier three at the maximum, especially for athletes.

“Yes, four. You started off at a tier three, but in the past few years your bond has strengthened. Are you working on regular privacy measures? The suppressants are working alright?” Frank asks, and Evgeni shifts in his seat.

“We’re okay at shielding. It’s still hard sometimes, if there’s… emotions or whatever,” Sidney mutters, and Evgeni coughs. Frank looks bemused but signs off on their bond development, saying that unless something really bad happens, they’ll just have to check in every few years to make sure their bond is still healthy and everything’s still okay. He gives them a prescription for better suppressants, more tailored to their bond with lesser side effects.

“You’ll start having to represent your country soon, and you can’t be together like you are now, so better suppressants are key for getting through those weeks. The only thing is, you cannot stop taking these -- you need to finish the whole sleeve, okay? If you stop, it could cause damage to your brains,” Frank says. Both of them nod.

“Not like it changes anything,” Evgeni grumps as they leave, and Vera rolls her eyes and asks if they want ice cream.

“So, tier four? That’s exciting,” she says, settling down with a banana split. Sidney’s got a plain vanilla cone with Oreos sprinkled on top, and Evgeni decided to indulge a lot in the face of their heightened tier level and got two scoops of chocolate mint, in a boat with waffles and syrup. Sidney’s looking at the waffle boat like he could eat it through his eyes or something, and Evgeni nudges it at him to see what’ll happen. Sidney doesn’t take the extra spoon and slumps down instead, working on sucking the ice cream from his cone as slowly as he can.

“I guess. It’s going to be difficult when we play later in life,” Sidney says eventually, long after Vera’s raised her eyebrows and looks concerned.

“I’m sure you two will work it out. You’re so good to each other,” she says, smiling. Evgeni blushes and Sidney chokes a little on his ice cream -- it’s so obviously a veiled reference to how _not_ good to each other they’re being right now, and he feels a little ashamed. She starts talking about a dog sitting company she wants to try out, and Evgeni watches as Sidney finishes his cone and reaches for the second spoon. He digs it into the ice cream mountain and lets a sliver of happiness dribble between them. It’s better than nothing, he supposes.

 

* * *

 

It takes Evgeni seriously spraining his wrist for Sidney to completely forgive him. For what, Evgeni will probably never fully understand, but they’re in Valley and Luc and André are gunning for him. They slam him up against the boards, and he collides with them awkwardly, hitting the ice hard.

He can barely hold his stick to get back to the bench, and Sidney’s screaming blue murder, looking like he’s a second from frothing at the mouth. The doctors x-ray his wrist and tell him it’s badly sprained, giving him an Ace bandage and telling him to ice it liberally and refrain from using it for the next few days.

Sidney finds him after the game, barging into the medical room and coming right up to Evgeni’s face. Evgeni holds his breath -- Sidney stinks from exertion and it’s kind of fucking intense, the way Sidney’s eyes are boring into his own, like they hold the key to the universe or something.

“Are you okay?” he finally asks. Evgeni nods, clutching his wrist.

“I’m gonna shower and then we’re going home,” Sidney continues, and Evgeni nods again, watching as Sidney charges back out.

Whatever shields were up between them drop like the Berlin Wall, and Evgeni heads to the locker room and takes his usual seat next to Sidney, waiting until he comes from the showers and changes. Sidney’s nestled himself back inside Evgeni, filling up the spaces that were aching for him, stronger and louder than Evgeni’s willing to admit.

Vera’s waiting for them and is all in a flurry about him, and both her and Sidney baby the hell out of Evgeni on the way home.

“I’m fine, just a sprain!” he exclaims, fumbling his way from between them and heading upstairs. Sidney joins him a few beats later, muscling his way into Evgeni’s bed.

“Not think you want this anymore,” Evgeni mumbles, once Sidney’s situated. Sidney lets out a massive sigh, and slips his leg between Evgeni’s, wrapping his arm around his waist.

“I was pissed off… just, don’t worry about it. I’m sorry for being an asshole.”

Evgeni huffs a laugh out, and laces their fingers together.

“Just promise me… that no matter what, you won’t leave me. Okay?”

 _Bingo_ \-- Taylor was right. This has been some kind of massive overreaction to Jessica. To be frank, if he had to pick between them, he’d pick Sidney. He’d always pick Sidney.

“I’m not… not a competition, Sid. You always come first. Like, I always come first for you, yes?” Evgeni manages to say, and Sidney wriggles behind him, pressing them closer together.

“Always,” he huffs against the back of Evgeni’s neck.

 

* * *

 

The bullying and abuse on-ice reaches a fever pitch, even being in Truro together and Sidney leading the fucking team and league in points (Evgeni a point behind in second, of course). It’s breathtaking, though, watching him shoot down the ice and score the kind of goals that’ll be on highlight reels one day. He’s just glad he gets to witness this shit in person.

Regardless, Evgeni can’t be around Sidney all the time, and he gets targeted something horrific on the ice, the refs turning a blind eye most of the time. Evgeni’s leading the team for PIM right now, which isn’t good -- they’re not supposed to be fighting, but he can’t help but see red whenever Sidney gets shoved or checked badly or even _looked_ at with the slightest hint of malice. The team don’t really back them up, and Evgeni isn’t settled here like he was in Valley. Sidney’s long since given up on trying to calm him, and even he’s getting pissed off at how angry he is all the time. He can’t just -- he can’t stop himself, and he’s not sure he ever wants to. Sidney can take care of himself, but Evgeni wants to do it for him.

 

Troy rings Sidney one evening, and tells him Shattucks-Saint Mary’s wants him to come play for their school next season. Him and Evgeni.

“We go,” he says, when Sidney puts the phone on loudspeaker on Evgeni’s bed.

“But hockey, the MHL--” he starts, and Evgeni snorts.

“I haven’t signed new contract, old contract done end of season. Barry can deal with Min… Minn--”

 _Minnesota,_ Sidney supplies helpfully, and Evgeni elbows him, smirking. They’ll finish this season with Truro, only another month to go, and next year they’ll be going to boarding school in America. It’s not the kind of place he’d be going to if it weren’t for being bonded to Sidney, he’s sure of it, but he’s slowly learning to accept that some things about it are out of his control. The conversation finishes and Sidney sighs happily, loose and relaxed on his bed.

 _Now, if only we can work on your rage issues,_ Sidney chirps him, laughing as Evgeni lunges, sending them tumbling off.

 

* * *

 

When Evgeni and Sidney return from Russia, Evgeni a freshly minted sixteen and Sidney not far behind, Trina and Troy have a surprise waiting for him.

It’s a car.

Evgeni could cry.

“Your parents helped… we can transfer your Canadian permit over to America, once you guys leave, but we figured that you might want a car to go on trips,” Trina says, laughing when Evgeni grabs her and twirls her around. Scratch that, he will definitely cry.

They’ve come back early to get ready for their move, and Barry calls him the next evening to tell him the Halifax Mooseheads have drafted him in the QMJHL.

“But I’m going to Shattucks. Everyone know that, why they draft me?” he asks, confused.

Barry sighs.

“This is a _real_ team, Geno. A feeder team for the draft, for the NHL. Tell Crosby to take some suppressants and deal with it for a season -- you need to play in Halifax,” he says, and Evgeni’s jaw tightens, so much so he’s surprised he doesn’t break teeth.

“Not funny, Barry.”

“Not being funny, Malkin. Tell Crosby the Mooseheads drafted you, and just watch his face. He’ll tell you to go. He understands hockey. You can’t throw this away,” Barry pleads.

He hangs up and Sidney appears in the doorway, his face drawn.

_The Halifax Mooseheads drafted me. Number two pick. But Shattucks--_

_Maybe we can try with the suppressants again. These ones don’t suck as bad..._ Sidney comes to sit beside him, overlapping their fingers on the bed. Evgeni hooks his pinkie with Sidney’s and rubs a little.

_Only because we’re around each other now. You know if I stayed here and you went to Minnesota, it’d be like last time. I can’t… I just can’t._

_Okay. Tell Halifax to wait until next season, then they’ll get us both._

_Unless you get drafted by another team and we have to move again._

_Yeah well, you moved from Valley… maybe it’s my turn, Zhenya._ Sidney’s been trying out his diminutive, flushing pink when he does it, but Evgeni likes the way it sounds in his voice, in his head.

He watches as Sidney leans back and flips on the television, throwing a controller at him.

 _C’mon, let’s play some Crash Bandicoot,_ he says, giggling when Evgeni pulls a face. He fucking hates this game, he’s so bad at it. He’d much prefer the car racing ones.

 

* * *

 

Jack motherfucking Johnson.

In some administrator’s wisdom, he and Sidney have been separated in the dorms. Troy assures him he’ll fix it, although Evgeni doesn’t really want to -- it’s hard enough having Sidney in his head all the time, let alone trying to live with him as well. He’s thankful for his own space and to get a head start making new friends.

At least, until he meets Sidney’s roommate and feels a white-hot emotion lick up his insides, so intense he feels like he’s on fire.

 

In an effort by the school to make their athletes appear to be well-rounded, Jack plays on the baseball team with Sidney and Evgeni plays soccer, which is how they met. There are a couple of Ukrainians and a Belarusian, the complete opposite to Alex, but he gets to speak something approximating his mother tongue with them.

His grades are pretty mediocre but he and Sidney are in a battle to be the top points scorer, and between that and hanging out with guys off the team and new friends they make from the dorms, all he hears in Sidney’s head and from Sidney’s mouth is _Jack, Jack, Jack._

He’s pretty sure Sidney’s gay, or at least interested in the idea of dudes, given how the feelings that leak are pretty much all Sidney’s. (That’s what he tells himself).

He might be jealous.

 

Sanja laughs for a full minute when Evgeni complains next phone call he makes back home, and he wonders if he could, in good conscious, hang up on him.

“Oh, this is hilarious. First Crosby’s jealous because of your girl -- what happened to her, by the way? She happy to get left behind in Truro? And now, now you’re jealous of some Yankee that Crosby’s infatuated with. Cut him some slack, eh?” Sanja smirks down the line.

“She dumped me when she found out I was coming to Minnesota. Whatever, I’m Russian and I have a car, I’ll find someone new,” he says, pointedly ignoring Sanja’s dig.

“I don’t think you need to find anyone new, Zhenya. I think who you need is right in front of your stupid, fat face.”

He hangs up on Sanja’s laughter without a lick of guilt.

 

His mama’s next letter is full of admonishment about being rude to old friends and pride, which means Sanja bitched to everyone they knew about Evgeni hanging up on him, but she also sends him a huge box packed with sweets and homemade treats. Sidney falls on the package like it’s the holy grail, grabbing for the chocolates Babushka made herself and shoving three in his mouth at once.

“Oh, God,” he moans, chocolate smeared around his lips, and Evgeni’s core goes tight.

He coughs and turns away, finding more dirty books stashed inside from Sanja. These ones appear to be about bonded pairings who fall in love, complete with romantic, windswept art on the front. What a complete and utter bastard.

*

His roommate is a quiet kid who’s a second line defenseman, one that Evgeni’s done some good work on the powerplay with. His nickname is Stammer, he keeps his side tidy, Evgeni’s never caught him jerking off and there’s never any girls back in the rooms. It’s illegal and they could get kicked out if anyone caught them sneaking anyone to their rooms, but it happens. Evgeni’s become far too acquainted with his moisturiser and his right hand in the shower.

He just can’t seem to close anything down, not with Sidney in his head complaining about Jack.

 

 _Jack thinks you hate him,_ Sidney says one night. Evgeni just wants to sleep. It’s two in the morning and Sidney’s kept him up testing him on mental flashcards for the upcoming chemistry test, and he’s exhausted.

 _What?_ Evgeni asks, stifling a yawn. He curls up and pulls his blankets over his head, wondering if he can fall asleep before this conversation ends.

_You heard me, you can’t pretend like you don’t speak English. Our bond--_

_Yeah, yeah, isn’t in a language, I get it._ Evgeni rolls his eyes.

_I’m serious. Why does he think you hate him? You aren’t really friendly to him, I guess. Why is that? You get along with everyone. You should try more with Jack._

_I want to sleep, Sid. Can we do this tomorrow?_

Silence greets him and he sighs, knowing he’s either pissed Sidney off or this conversation is shelved for later.

 

Thankfully, he never actually has to have it, because Sidney comes back to the dorms with a black eye and a scrape along his cheek, and Jack’s got bruised knuckles and is suspended for a week.

“What the fuck?” Evgeni exclaims, flying off his bed and sending his English Lit homework fluttering to the ground as Sidney and Jack come through his door. Stammer’s off doing God knows what, and he’s so glad for it as he cradles Sidney’s head, inspecting the graze.

“We got into a fight on the baseball field. I shut ‘em up,” Jack says, and Evgeni looks at him as he tugs Sidney into a hug, Sidney squawking as his face hits Evgeni’s chest.

“Thank you,” he says, holding out a hand, the other wrapped around Sidney’s waist.

“It’s, uh… no problem, Malkin.”

“Call me Geno,” Evgeni says, and feels Sidney’s busted lip curve into a smile against his neck.

 _You bastard, you probably did that on purpose,_ Evgeni thinks later that night. Sidney just hums happily back at him, replaying the fight for him to watch.

 

* * *

 

Sidney’s made captain and Jack and Evgeni get the A’s after the break, and things seem to be going well, both of them settling into the school and the team. Sidney’s taking intensive French in order to speak to the media more in Canada, because apparently knowing Russian isn’t enough. Evgeni doesn’t mind so much, until Sidney starts recruiting him to help with his vocabulary. Flash cards are the fucking devil, he’d sworn off them once he left ESL, but apparently he’s not destined for a life without them just yet.

“I should know both languages well, now help me with the cards,” Sidney had said, jabbing Evgeni until he held up the next flash card.

*

He gets a call from Barry in early March while he’s playing Battleships with Sidney and losing miserably, so he takes the distraction happily.

“ _Da_ , Barry,” he says, and Sidney looks up.

“Geno, the Russian hockey federation wants you to play in the U18 World Championships, back in Russia. They’re being held in Yaroslavl,” he says. Evgeni blinks.

 _Russia?_ Sidney asks, and Evgeni nudges him to be quiet so he can think.

“Russia want me to play… for national team,” he says slowly, and Barry laughs.

“Yes, Geno, they want you to come play for them. It’s from April 8th to the 18th. Am I saying yes, that you’ll commit to go?”

“Have to speak to Coach, staff… Sabres season still going, playoffs here,” he says. Sidney jabs him with his elbow.

_It’s the national team, you idiot! Your country is calling!_

_Sid, shut up before I find my dirty socks,_ Evgeni shoots back, grinning at the look of disgust on Sidney’s face.

“I called them first, they told me it was up to you. So… are you going to Russia or what? Crosby can’t come,” Barry says, and Evgeni rolls his eyes.

“I know that. Yes, I commit. Will go to Russia for Worlds,” he says, and hangs up, laughing as Sidney pounces on him and shakes him.

“Russia, Geno! Russia!”

 

* * *

 

It’s weird, going back to Russia without Sidney. They’re stocked up on suppressants and Jack’s on strict instruction that if Sidney so much as winces from a headache, Evgeni will be back on the plane.

“I learned my lesson last time, Zhenya,” Sidney mutters as they say goodbye, the shuttle bus waiting to take him to the airport.

Sanja greets him once he lands in Moscow, both of them decked out in their team gear. He’s still the same smiling bastard he’s always been.

“No Crosby?” Sanja asks, after they’ve hugged and walked towards their terminal, joining the rest of the U18 team.

“No, no Crosby. He knew he’d have to see your ugly face, and decided I’d suffer alone,” Evgeni jokes, ducking away from Sanja’s outraged face and fists of fury.

He gets a few weird looks and cold shoulders when he joins the team for dinner, and by the cut of Sanja’s clenched jaw, he knows why.

“What’s going on?” he asks, and Sanja shakes his head.

“Later,” he says and elbows his way into seats in the middle. Evgeni frowns. He’s not used to not being liked-- chirped for his weird English and Russian ‘ways’, sure, but to be rejected by his own people like this… he doesn’t know what he did, or why it’s happening now.

 

In their dorm room that night, Sanja crosses his legs and thinks for a bit before saying, “It’s because you’re bonded to an American.”

“He’s Canadian,” Evgeni says, and Sanja flaps a hand.

“Same difference. They look at him, they see American. They think, why didn’t he bond with a Russian girl? Why with someone who takes him from his city, from his _people_ \-- it’s dumb, I know. It’s God’s choice, God’s right to pick who we bond with, but some guys have stupid ideas,” Sanja says.

Evgeni leans back against the wall. He’d assumed it was something like this, sure, but every time he’s gone home, everyone’s been so nice about it. Had they been just pitying him?

“Has everyone just been smiling at my face and saying this shit behind my back? All our friends back home?” he asks, and Sanja shakes his head.

“Of course not, everyone loves Crosby. Him and his lovely manners and amazing skills on the ice, as if you wouldn’t. It’s just… some people don’t understand. They see from afar, they think they know what’s going on and they make assumptions.”

“I wasn’t manipulated into bonding him but I didn’t fucking choose it, either. It just happened!” Evgeni snaps, and Sanja pets his arm.

“I know, Zhenya-- look, it’s stupid and you shouldn’t worry about it. They’ll get over it. They just see someone like you bonded, and they think they know, but they don’t and you shouldn’t worry about it. Just play hockey, win us a gold. It’ll be fine.”

“This is going to happen for the rest of my life, isn’t it? People are going to think I manipulated him into accepting the bond, or the other way… they’re going to think it was a choice, like our lives haven’t been shit since it happened.” He feels deflated, defeated -- like the crappiness of the past few years were made less so by the fact people seemed _okay_ with their bond, and now he’s finding out the complete opposite.

“Zhenya, seriously. I don’t know how many times to tell you, who gives a fuck? The important people know how it really went down, and that’s all that matters. Let your skill speak for you-- for _both_ of you.”

*

He feels off-kilter for the tournament, unable to shut it down under the eyes of his teammates, feeling like an outsider on his own fucking team like this, and Russia come third by the end of it. Sanja’s stiff next to him as they receive their bronze medals and wave for the crowd, and he reaches for him afterwards.

“Next time, we’ll get the right colour,” Evgeni promises.

“I wish you were in Russia, Zhenya. I miss you,” Sanja says, and he can’t -- there isn’t anything he can say to that.

“God had a different plan for me, Sanja. We’ll see each other again soon, and I call you all the time,” he says, and Sanja shrugs.

“It’s not the same, Zhenya. I just… why did we have to say yes to that fucking invitational?” he sighs, letting Evgeni go.

His eyes are red and he wishes he knew how to fix this, whatever it is.

“I don’t know, but… we did, and it’s all in the past now. I’m happy in Canada, and you’ll forget all about me once you get back to Moscow.”

“I wish it were that simple, Zhenya,” Sanja says sadly.

*

When he arrives back in Minnesota, Sidney’s waiting outside the dorms and launches on him as soon as he climbs out the car, pulling back to punch him.

“You took so long!” he exclaims, and Evgeni presses a kiss to his temple in apology, hugging him tighter. His face looks a little drawn, his edges a little more pinched than before, but Jack said he was fine while Evgeni was gone -- Sidney’s not _that_ good of an actor.

“I only got bronze,” Evgeni says once they make it back to his rooms, pulling the medal out his bag and showing Sidney. He rubs his fingers around the edges, taking it all in.

“At least you got a medal,” Sidney says, turning on him with bright eyes and a smile. He supposes he’s right.

 _I’m always right,_ Sidney echoes, laughing as Evgeni snorts at him.

 

* * *

 

They lead the team to the U-18 AAA National Championship -- because of course they do. Their team is solid, both Evgeni and Sidney play like their lives fucking depend on it and finish tied in the lead for points scored, getting 167 to finish the season. Evgeni’s PIM has dropped to an acceptable number as well, and both the coaches and Sidney are happy about this development. It’s nice to be able to focus on the ice and only the ice, as opposed to whether Sidney’s getting checked too hard.

Sidney’s deliriously happy as he hoists the cup, tears mixing with the non-alcoholic champagne being sprayed everywhere. The Crosbys make their way down onto the ice from the stands and Evgeni’s parents are somewhere in the din, having flown over for a week.

Their bond is drenched in a blaze of golden happiness and intense glory, and he never wants it to end.

He gets shitfaced that night, Evgeni convincing one of the kit guys to get him a few bottles of Stoli to celebrate, and Sidney discovers beer pong and Jagerbombs via one Jack Johnson, who can’t stop laughing. None of them can.

He hears Jack and a few of the boys asking what their plans are for the summer, saying they’re going for a roadie to California for a week, and Evgeni’s not adverse to the idea of staying in North America for a few extra weeks, he finds. Sidney looks at him, his eyes unfocused until they’re not. Until they’re looking straight at him, his cheeks pink and his hair sticking to his forehead.

“Nah, we go to Russia all summer. Sorry boys,” Sidney says, grabbing for his beer as it wobbles on the edge of the table. Evgeni ducks his head, his cheeks flaming, and gets wrestled away for another beer pong round.

They pass out together wedged behind the couch, tangled in each other. Evgeni comes to first the next morning, smelling the sticky sweetness of shots, sweat and beer. Sidney’s snoring loudly, his elbow pushed against Evgeni’s chest, ass nestled nicely against his dick.

He grinds a few times, Sidney moaning softly in his sleep and the bond goes a pinkish colour, contentedness spreading through him, and it’d be so easy to just… to reach around Sidney, to bring him to completion and kiss him, soft and sure. But he doesn’t.

He stands up instead, makes his way to the nearest bathroom and turns on the shower, shedding his clothes and working as slowly as he possibly can to get himself clean. Sidney made them bring a backpack of spare clothes, and he sends up a prayer as he gets dressed in clean clothes and heads out to coax his bondmate into the hangover that’s waiting for him.

 

* * *

 

They don’t get a chance to be in Russia for long -- Sidney’s called up to the U18 Junior World Cup in August and he heads off to play for his country.

“Bring me back a medal,” Evgeni says as he leans against his car, Sidney wrestling his gear bag and sticks out the boot.

“Fuck you,” Sidney says back, but he’s smiling and manages to get his bag over his shoulders.

“I was looking forward to three months without suppressants,” he sighs, moving into Evgeni’s embrace. He rubs his nose against Evgeni’s neck -- ticklish -- and presses what feels like a kiss there, but he can’t be sure.

*

It’s lonely without Sidney. His cousins and old friends are unable to fill the gap Sidney’s made for himself and he calls him every night, even though Sidney spends half the time complaining that his phone bill will be astronomical. It seems like he’s going to have a boring summer until Foma comes over one day on his own, pale and sweaty but bursting with happiness.

“What’s wrong?” Evgeni asks, helping him to sit on the lounge. Foma turns his amazing grin on his cousin, hands fluttering.

“I bonded, Zhenya. Yesterday!” he exclaims, before wincing and bringing a hand to his head.

Evgeni sits there, frozen, unable to move. Foma brings up a hand and waves it in his face.

“Hello, did you hear me? I said I--”

“I heard what you said. Congratulations,” he says stiffly. Foma raises an eyebrow.

“...that’s all I get? Congratulations? Zhenya, I just fucking _bonded,_ you of all people should know how important this is,” Foma snaps. Evgeni’s jaw clenches as the frustration begins to build inside him. He’s distantly glad Sidney can’t feel him, can’t feel what’s going on inside, because he doesn’t know how to process this.

“Why the hell did you agree in the first place?” he explodes as Foma grabs him and shakes his shoulder. He blinks, the hurt expression spreading across his face.

“What do you mean? It was a _bond_ , how could I say no?”

“Did you get the chance? Did you accept it into your mind?” he snarls, and Foma looks down at his lap, mumbling out, “Yes.”

“You saw-- how could you be so dumb? You saw everything I’ve had to go through, what Sid went through! Bonding is the worst thing in the world! I lost everything, I had to go to another country on the other side of the world, go through pain and suffering to get there,” Evgeni says as he stands up and starts to pace.

“Zhenya, it’s different for me, though. I bonded to Tatiana Gregorovich; she’s Russian and from here. I don’t-- it’s not the same.”

Foma reaches out for his arm, and tugs him onto the lounge.

“Bonding isn’t the end of the world, Zhenya. Your story may be a little different… you may have suffered a little more than the others, but you were always going to suffer to get to what you want. Everyone does. It’s called life; it’s called being dedicated.”

Evgeni tries to pull away, but Foma’s stronger.

“You’re going to be an amazing hockey player, and with Sid you have the opportunity to get exposed to a better league, better training, a better _bondmate_. I know sometimes it feels like you can never catch a break, that everything you want is far away but within your reach… but it could be worse, Zhenya. It could be so much worse.”

*

Canada finishes fourth, even though Sidney has an amazing tournament and the media are in a frenzy over him all over again. Evgeni commiserates but he can’t help but be glad for it-- glad for the fact he won’t have to be on his own much longer.

Foma comes over with Galya the day after Sidney lands, and they camp out in the living room, the air conditioner humming above them to avoid the summer heat.

“I have some news, Sid,” Foma says slowly, and Sidney turns from the magazine he was reading with Evgeni to look at him. Foma tells him he bonded, and Sidney gives him a huge smile and congratulates him, asking how they bonded and who his mate is.

Evgeni can’t take much more and gets up, heading out into the backyard to kick his soccer ball angrily against the fence.

 _Zhenya?_ Sidney presses, and Evgeni knows he’s on the porch, watching.

_What?_

_Why are you so mad? What happened?_

_Foma is a fool for accepting his bond, especially after he saw what we went through!_

Sidney comes to stand next to him, squinting in the harsh sunlight. It feels false out here somehow. His anger, his indignation, his fear for his cousin.

_Not everyone bonds at thirteen and has to move countries, Geno. We suffered for it, sure, but… sometimes bonding is less complicated. Sometimes it’s just… a bond. Closeness._

_Sidney, bonding is dangerous and it’s painful, I don’t see why you can’t--_

_So every second of every day you’ve been bonded to me has been pain and suffering, has it?_ Sidney snaps, his body taut. Evgeni groans.

_No, but--_

_But what? Your experiences with something doesn’t mean everyone else is going to go through the same thing._

_Bonding has always scared me, Sid. Always._ Evgeni reaches for his hand and pulls them back onto the porch, away from the sun. Sidney’s already pink, and the last thing he wants is to have to hear his bitching about the sun.

 _I guessed as much. But it’s worked out pretty good for you, all things considered?_ Sidney looks hopeful and Evgeni just feels… weird. Not unhappy, but he’s not happy, either.

Sidney hasn’t let go of his hand, and he squeezes it instead.

 _Yeah, Sid. It’s worked out okay enough, I guess._ Sidney rolls his eyes but lets go, pushing Evgeni back inside. He sits down with Foma as Galya switches the television to a movie channel, Die Hard 2 starting as she does.

“Sorry. I am happy for you, truly. Bonding got me Sid, and it hasn’t all been bad. I forget sometimes, I guess-- the bigger picture is a little hard to see when you’re so close to it,” he whispers to Foma, who pats his thigh.

“You were just looking out for me. That’s okay, I’d be more worried if you didn’t act like a massive asshole,” he says, laughing when Evgeni tries to punch him.

 

Later that night, after Galya bundles her brother up with promises to introduce them to his bondmate, they head upstairs into Evgeni’s room and lie on his bed, the TV droning on the news in the background.

 _You okay?_ Evgeni asks, meaning how Canada finished in the tournament. It all comes through as a jumbled mess of worry and concern, and Sidney smiles and sends back what Evgeni can only compare to a back rub, before his fingers sneak up his jumper and press against his spine.

 _I’m fine, Zhenya_ Sidney mumbles, together and not wanting to move. Evgeni just rubs his nose against Sidney’s hairline and leaves his face there, breathing him in until he falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

Océanic Rimouski draft Sidney at the end of the summer, but the Bond Authorities contact them directly this time.

They call Evgeni anyway, his phone ringing in his pants as they walk along the main street, their feet slipping in flip flops and ice cream running down their wrists. Foma and his girlfriend Tatiana are with them and Galya’s recovering from heartache, tucked under Geno’s arm, while Sidney wanders ahead of them, asking after Galya’s friend Pyotr.

Evgeni glares. Sidney doesn’t need to be asking about Pyotr, because Pytor is a dickhead and Evgeni doesn’t like him. He tells Sidney as much via their bond, and relishes the way Sidney throws his head back and laughs that ridiculous, honking atrocity, far too much. Their bond has stayed that weird colour of pink since the playoffs, and Evgeni’s not sure what to make of it -- their bond isn’t usually coloured, more thoughts and feelings, so it’s a weird development. They haven’t taken suppressants for months either, their emotions thrown wide open and shuttling between each other, happiness the only thing he can feel.

“ _Da?_ ” Evgeni greets, not recognising the number and not caring.

“Evgeni Malkin? My name is Radomir, and I’m calling from the Bond Authority office in Moscow. How are you today?” comes the reply in unfamiliar Russian.

Evgeni stiffens -- fucking Moscow, fucking B.O.N.D officers.

“Fine, thanks. What do you want?”

“We’re calling to let you know that your bondmate, Sidney Crosby, has been placed in a position where he will be separated from you indefinitely. Océanic Rimouski have drafted him in the QMJHL, whereas you are to play for the Halifax Mooseheads. Last time you were separated our offices stepped in, but as you are now sixteen, you have more say in the processes. How would you like us to proceed?” Radomir asks. It’s absurd, he’s never heard of shit like this happening. He doesn’t know how to react.

“Why are you calling me? Why not Sidney, or his parents like last time?” he finally asks, and Galya yells for Sidney and explains what’s going on.

“Because Mr. Crosby is only fifteen. This time, as you are older, it’s your choice whether you move or not. Sixteen is considered age of able consent when it comes to bonding, and we’ll still discuss with both sets of parents but you come first. So, would you like to play in Rimouski, or would you like Mr. Crosby to be in Halifax with you? We’ll advise the teams either way,” he asks.

Evgeni looks at Sidney, who frowns.

 _I told you, last time… it’s my turn to go with you. You moved from Valley for me,_ he says, and Evgeni looks skyward. He can’t believe he’s about to do this -- supposes it says something for his personal development.

“I want to move to Rimouski.”

“Very well, Mr. Malkin. Your teams will be informed of the outcome in the next few days,” he says.

“Wait! Do you do this for every bond between athletes? I don’t remember ever seeing anything like this in the news. There’d be an outrage,” Evgeni says.

“Only the special ones, Mr. Malkin. You have a good day,” Radomir says, and the line goes dead. Galya’s moved away from him to fight with her brother over something, they always squabble, and Sidney comes to stand in front of him.

 _Why?_ he asks, and Evgeni shrugs and tucks Sidney against him, resuming their walk.

_Rimouski sounds more Russian._

He laughs as Sidney elbows him but lets it go, wondering what their first season in a new league will be like.

 

* * *

 

Sidney’s been doing interviews and television spots for a year or so now, but once they get to Rimouski it’s on a whole new level. He’s been working on his French all summer to prepare, and slides between the languages without much effort. Evgeni, being his bondmate, is dragged into it as well -- which is something he definitely could do without, and regularly pretends to forget his English and what little French he’s managed to pick up. Their team think it’s hilarious, hearing him lapse into Russian and making confused faces all the time. They even help him coming up with excuses for their PR officer, a harried young woman named Tiffany, who definitely wishes she didn’t have a stubborn Russian to deal with.

“Geno, _please_ , just answer two questions,” she begs him today, and Evgeni blinks slowly at her as he undoes the tape around his leg pads.

“No English today… or French,” he grunts back. Stewie elbows him from the next stall.

“Don’t be a dick, G. Just answer some questions. Your boyfriend does it just fine,” he says.

The team, between chirping Evgeni on all manner of things, have taken to calling Sidney ‘Darryl’ (after the ridiculous exhibition game they played and he netted eight points) or ‘Geno’s boyfriend’. Because that’s hilarious and doesn’t hit far too close to home or anything.

Thankfully for them, there’s also more bonded players in the Q, which means a little of the glaring spotlight is eased off Evgeni and Sidney. Granted, the other bonds are not the brightest stars in the league, all but guaranteed to be top draft picks, but there’s enough that the media aren’t completely focussed on them for once.

“They want to ask bond questions, I don’t want to answer,” Evgeni says, leaning back in his stall. Sidney’s undressing on the other side, down to his Under Armour and slipping his socked feet into his sandals. He wriggles his toes against the rubber, and nudges at Evgeni.

 _C’mon, just two questions. We’ll tell Tiffany no bond ones,_ Sidney says, following it up with a yawn.

“We keeping you up, Darryl?” Dany asks from across the locker room, laughing when Sidney flushes. Evgeni nudges him and Sidney droops a little. The media always insist on keeping him for up to half-an-hour, not helped by Sidney rambling at length on their powerplay and scoring capabilities. Tremblay, Hubes and Oullie are making noises about getting steak for dinner and Evgeni desperately wants to be in on that.

“Wait for me, I want steak,” he says, struggling upwards as the media streams in. Tiffany stands in front of them and holds up two fingers.

“You have Crosby, Malkin and Bergeron today. Crosby’s free for five minutes in English, three questions in French. Bergeron’s for five in French or English, and Malkin you have two questions in English maximum -- none about bonding.”

“What about in Russian?” a voice asks from the back of the scrum, and Tiffany looks at him. He shrugs and she nods. “Three extra questions in Russian,” she says, and lets them past.

Most reporters head to Sidney, and Evgeni steps aside as two of them come to him.

“Congratulations on the game, Geno. A goal and an assist on the powerplay. How are you feeling about the season?” the guy on the left asks, taking pity and handballing him an easy one. Evgeni mumbles his way through his usual clichés, watching as the journalist nods and smiles. He follows it up asking about the draft next year and what team he wants to go to.

He shrugs. “Don’t mind -- any team that wants me will do.”

“Well, that’s not true, is it? You’ll end up going wherever Crosby goes. The league doesn’t value you as an individual player, do they?” the second reporter asks, in Russian.

Evgeni blinks. This guy -- _what?_

“What do you mean?” he asks, too stunned to tell him off for disobeying Tiffany.

“Well, you’ve been drafted by two separate teams, and had to move to whatever team selected Crosby. Does it even matter where you get drafted? Why even bother? You’ll follow Crosby around for the rest of your life, your own skill eclipsed by his.”

Evgeni’s dumbstruck, knows he looks like a fish but Sidney can’t hear him over the bond, the suppressants are still working their magic, deafening them to each other.

“I-- that’s not true. I chose to move from Halifax to Rimouski, it’s a better team environment here,” he stammers.

“Well, that’s a lie. Halifax is a bigger franchise than Rimouski. Why didn’t you play for different teams? You’re on stronger suppressants; tier four, right?” he asks, and _how the fuck does he know all of this?_

“That’s private, our tier level. You can’t know anything about that. How do you know that?”

“I have my sources. The fact of the matter is, you’re stuck in a tier four bond with the future Gretzky, and everything you achieve is going to be overlooked because of him. How does that make you feel? Is there even any point in you playing hockey?” he asks.

Evgeni grits his jaw, fury racing through his veins, and he balls his hands into fists.

“ _None of that is true._ Rimouski value me -- I’m not just part of Sidney. I’m my own player, my own person. Whatever team chooses me, Sidney will come to me.”

“Unless the team uses you as a strategy. They pick you now, they’ll get Sidney Crosby next year. How are you supposed to ever be sure you’re what they want, that you’re not just a stopgap for Crosby?”

“Interview over,” he snaps, tears prickling at his eyes. He grabs his gear and bypasses his shower, ignoring the calls from behind him, and throws his shit in the car and peals out.

He gets back to their billet house and storms upstairs, rushing through a shower and jamming his palms against his eyes, trying to push the tears away.

It doesn’t work, though. He ends up on his floor, crying into his knees. It feels like he’s flying apart from the hurt, from desperately wishing his mama was around to soothe his pain. Is the journalist right? Is he only a stopgap for Sidney?

His phone keeps ringing but he refuses to answer it, flopping onto his bed and curling up in a ball, watching the sun sink into the horizon until he feels Sidney return home, pressing at the edges of their bond. Evgeni doesn’t have a shield up but he’s keeping Sidney out, doesn’t want him to see him like this -- doesn’t want this weakness witnessed by anyone else. He just needs to put himself back together, that’s all.

“Geno, let me in,” Sidney’s voice comes at the door a few beats later.

Evgeni shakes his head. “Go away,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Please… don’t shut me out, let me in,” he says, and Evgeni curls up tighter but does nothing to stop him coming inside.

 _Oh, Zhenya,_ he says and sinks down next to him, placing a hand on the side of his neck. Evgeni feels a fresh wave of tears start up, as Sidney lies down in front of him and tangles their legs together, trying to move into his embrace.

 _What happened? Tell me, let me make it better,_ Sidney whispers and Evgeni opens an arm, lets Sidney wriggle up against his chest, pressing his face into Sidney’s hair and inhaling. He smells like chocolate, ice and Axe -- like _Sidney_. It makes him ache that much more.

“You’re in so much pain, it’s--” Sidney says, and Evgeni pushes the memory of the interview at him, feels Sidney grow more horrified as the words land on him, the reporter’s bland face a contrast to the horrible things he was saying.

_You’ve gotta know that isn’t true, none of what he said is true. You’re an amazing hockey player, we’re even better together. We’re Sid and Geno, the two-headed monster, power play destroyers and goal scorers, centers. We’re **us**. _

_What if he’s right, Sid? What if I’m just a stopgap for you?_

Sidney moans, low and pained, shaking his head against Evgeni’s cheek. He presses his palm against Evgeni’s chest, his other hand moving to squeeze at his hip.

_You’re more than I ever hoped for in a bondmate. You’re… you’re so talented, you’re funny and smart and I’m lucky you’re mine, okay?_

Evgeni blinks, looking at Sidney through his lashes.

 _I’m yours?_ he asks. Sidney nods, his eyes focussed like there’s nothing else but Evgeni in the world, nothing else he could want.

 _Of course you’re mine. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and hockey is hockey, but… never think that you’re not good enough, because you are. You are good enough, and if we weren’t on the same team I’d…_ he trails off, their bond glowing a brighter pink than before.

_You’d what?_

_I’d be lost, okay. You’re as good as me, probably better. When we start playing for our national teams more regularly, it’s going to kill me lining up against you. So don’t ever think -- that asshole doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Nobody knows what they’re talking about. Just us._

Evgeni sniffles a little, and Sidney pulls the edge of his sleeve up over his fingers and wipes his eyes.

“Thanks,” he mumbles and Sidney presses their foreheads together.

“I mean it, Geno. I’m glad to have you. I’m sorry we bonded how we did, but we can’t change that now. But we can be better going forward.”

“Is this why you haven’t-- why nobody for you?” he asks, and Sidney blinks.

“What do you mean, nobody for me?”

“No girls… no guys, just hockey and school, and us.”

Sidney shrugs, a smile blooming on his face, small and quirking the edges of his lips.

“I’ve got you, and hockey. That’s enough for me,” he says, and pets Evgeni’s cheek before standing up and stretching.

He leaves to get them ice cream, and Evgeni’s arms feel empty, Sidney’s words echoing around his head as he listens to his bondmate hum a wordless song on his way downstairs. How the hell is he ever supposed to find someone who can match what Sidney is to him?

 

* * *

 

Sidney gets invited to World Juniors at the end of 2003, but Evgeni doesn’t, and he tries not to let it bother him as Sidney packs his gear again. They’re back in Halifax for the Christmas break, only a few days this year -- the Q doesn’t stop for as long as the smaller leagues, and they try to take it in their stride, enjoying their time with Sidney’s family.

Taylor’s gotten so big while they’ve been away, but she still fits in the cradle of Evgeni’s arms, both of them sacked out on Sidney’s bed while he packs.

“Are you gonna miss me?” she asks, and Sidney pokes his tongue out at her.

“Of course I am. I always miss you, it’s why I call home so much,” he says, and Evgeni presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“Are you gonna miss Zhenya?” she asks, and Sidney pauses as he packs his sweatpants.

“I am,” he finally says, and Evgeni wonders why he paused. It’s an easy question, one they both know the answer to, but Sidney’s not giving anything up over their bond. It’s _still_ pink, and Evgeni’s getting sick of the colour, of not understanding what it means. He’s tried to read books about it, even going so far as to start Googling ‘bond changing colour’, but nothing’s helpful so he’s given up in disgust.

He drives Sidney to the airport with Troy, and they sit in the international departures together.

“It’s in Helsinki,” Sidney says, his fingers tugging at his bond pendant. Evgeni bites his lip and leans forward, his fingers brushing Sidney’s out the way so he can thumb across the silver.

“Important place for us,” he says, and Sidney swallows, his eyes huge as he watches Evgeni. The boarding call comes and he stands up, Sidney following him and hugging his father first. Troy walks off to give them some privacy, and Sidney pulls Evgeni in, his head tucking underneath his chin.

“I lied to Taylor,” he says, and Evgeni raises an eyebrow.

“I’m going to miss you so much, it’ll be like my arm is cut off,” he says as he pulls back, and Evgeni can barely push around the lump in his throat.

“Not for long, Sid. Come back soon, bring me a medal,” Evgeni manages, pressing a kiss to Sidney’s temple, his favourite spot. Sidney nods and heads off, showing his passport and boarding pass to the hostess, turning to wave at Evgeni and his father as he goes.

 

Evgeni stays in Halifax until the 29th -- he speaks to his parents and tries to ring Sanja but there’s no answer. It bothers him but there’s no time before he’s heading to Rimouski to join their team, only able to catch the tournament whenever they get spare time.

They see Sidney win silver, the US taking the gold. Stewie, the lone American on the squad, is impossible about the win and only shuts up about it after Sidney gets back, his medal and international gear in tow.

“You did well, I’m very proud,” Evgeni says once the others have harassed Sidney about Helsinki and the girls and the hockey.

“I couldn’t bring you back a gold one, sorry,” he says.

“Silver better than bronze,” Evgeni says and Sidney giggles.

“Bronze is better than fourth,” he agrees.

 

* * *

 

He leaves to play for Russia again, this time in Minsk, and Sidney calls him every night, demanding to know everything and keeping up chatter about the things he’s gotten up to while Evgeni’s been gone (studying, training, watching movies, being bored -- the usual).

The team consists of mostly the same guys as last time, except they’re less frosty to him this time around… still not willing to let him in, not as far as he wants to be. It wouldn’t matter so much except Sanja’s more subdued this tournament, less willing with a smile, and Evgeni doesn’t know how to fix what’s wrong. He won’t talk to him unless they’re on the ice, centering the top two lines or together on the powerplay.

“Sanja’s not talking to me,” he tells Sidney as they head into the knockout rounds. He’s rooming with Bobrovsky again, a sweet boy with a good career ahead of him, impossibly young to be here, anyway.

“Why?” Sidney asks, sounding distracted.

“I don’t know, he won’t tell me. Because _not talking to me_ ,” Evgeni says, annoyed at the idea Sidney isn’t giving him his full attention.

“Maybe he’s missing you a lot, like I do whenever you go away. It’s hard, being the one left behind,” Sidney says, and Evgeni blanches.

“Can’t help that, been away since thirteen. Why now?” he asks.

“I don’t know. You’ll get drafted together for the NHL, maybe. Maybe he thinks you won’t go to the same team, that you’ll never play together, whereas we will.”

It’s not even a question and Evgeni flushes -- but Sidney’s got a point.

He tries to talk to Sanja before the gold medal game, but Sanja’s pissed off and shoves past him, refusing to say anything.

 

They win gold, battered and bruised from the tournament but his feet never touch the ground -- not when the gold is slipped around his neck, not when Sanja finally breaks down and hugs him, crying all over him like a smelly baby, and not even when he makes it back to Sidney.

Sidney, who hugs him long and tight and stares at the medal for ages, feeling the weight of it in his hands, tucked against Evgeni’s side in bed.

“Did you talk to him?” he asks, and Evgeni nods.

“Eventually. He didn’t tell me why he was mad, just that he’s an idiot but he’s over it,” he says.

It’d been weird, Sanja apologising while drunk off cheap champagne and covered in sweat, not elaborating much further. The morning after he had been sheepish and hungover, but played cards with Evgeni while they waited for the bus to the airport and hugged him goodbye, apologising again and promising to call.

The other guys properly said goodbye to him as well and it’s dumb, so fucking dumb, that it took a gold medal to apparently ‘prove’ himself in their eyes.

“Don’t understand, Canada do this to you as well?” Evgeni asks, and Sidney shakes his head.

“They think you’re awesome, and it’s cool that I’ve bonded to you. I think it’s just… different people, different situations. It’s not always going to be easy, but it’s not always going to suck.”

 

* * *

 

Playoffs are brutal and Evgeni’s nursing what he thinks is a separated shoulder for two games until Moncton kick them out. The coaching staff confirm his beliefs and bind the shit out of it, telling him to go easy until they can schedule a surgery to make sure he hasn’t ripped anything. He does as he’s told, for once, and lets Sidney nurse him back to health.

It’s more funny than anything, especially when he starts shaking the bell they gave him for no reason at all, having it confiscated shortly after amongst a lecture about abusing power and responsibilities of other people in the house.

Sidney takes almost every fucking award there is to win, but Evgeni manages to snag a few for himself -- he takes Offensive Player and makes the cut for All-Star and All-Star Rookie team for the Q. He’s proud of his bondmate, proud of himself for winning things, of making an achievement for himself with 50 goals and 82 assists that season and more points in playoffs.

He knows how to score, how to hustle and how to clear pucks, and his coaches all sing his praises, never mentioning Sidney in the same breath unless they’re talking about the power play units. It’s reassuring to him, to that part inside of him that wonders if that reporter was right -- if maybe he is useless, just a stopgap for Sidney.

He needs moments, needs achievements like this.

 

* * *

 

Barry calls him two days after their playoffs run ends, and tells him that he’s rated number two overall of European skaters. Of course, Sanja is number one -- still tearing it up at Dynamo and sending him abusive emails whenever he gets the chance. Things are still sitting awkwardly, a little uncomfortable at times, but Evgeni can’t fix what Sanja won’t speak to him about, so he just lets it lie, taking whatever Sanja’s willing to give him.

Sidney’s nervous for him, which is ridiculous considering he’ll certainly go number one next year, to whomever gets him in the draft. That, it seems, is the problem.

“What if I’m drafted to another team, one that doesn’t--” he starts, and Evgeni reaches for him, wrapping his fingers around his wrist and squeezing until Sidney stops.

“We be fine, okay? If we get drafted to different teams, then one of us move. No big deal. Bond law state we can be on same team if we want, so we be on same team. Authority already told us we special.”

“But then--” Sidney starts, continuing the thought when Evgeni’s hand moves from his wrist to his mouth, _Are we being drafted because we’re good, or because the team knows they need to use their pick on us? What if we’re not good enough to qualify?_

 _Teams have more than one pick, and if they know they need to take us, why waste a high pick on a sure thing? We’re going to Washington or Pittsburgh, Sid, maybe Chicago. It’s gonna be cold, so pack a scarf for your weak Canadian skin,_ he chirps, ducking away from Sidney and laughing when he squawks and punches him. It’s weird, how they’ve switched positions -- Sidney the one worrying about their worth, and Evgeni reassuring him.

 

* * *

 

The draft is in Raleigh on June 26th, roughly a month before his eighteenth birthday, and Evgeni gets his first proper suit in preparation. He flies his parents and Denis in for the draft, and Sidney and his family also attend -- his adopted family, in a show of support. There’s bonded players in the draft, but none as talented or highly touted as them. It’s nerve wracking, and he’s doing so many interviews in both English and Russian that his voice is hoarse. Sidney coaches him through a lot of them, using their bond to help him explain himself when his English fails him in nervousness.

All the media converge on Evgeni and Sidney, demanding they be interviewed together and are asked about their bond over and over. Everyone knows their story now -- the junior camp in Finland, Evgeni’s ‘traumatic’ uprooting and forced wallowing in the Maritimes (Sidney takes offense, and Evgeni laughs a lot), bouncing from team to team until they were old enough to settle in Rimouski.

“Why you have to interview me then, if already know life story?” he asks, and everyone laughs and shifts back and forth.

“But seriously though, how do you even deal with what you’ve gone through? You’ve got a bondmate, in Sid the Kid -- Gretzky’s touted him as being the Next One, and he’s full of praise about you too. How do you feel?” some moron asks. Evgeni has no idea how to answer such a stupid question, because there _is_ no answer. He’s spent years agonising over whether he’s good enough for Sidney, so secure in his own abilities up until the point where they bonded.

 _Don’t tell them that… lie, make up some bullshit about being happy, excited to play in the NHL,_ Sidney feeds him. He admonishes him -- he’s not an idiot -- but dutifully repeats Sidney’s words and then they’re left alone. Sidney leaves with his family and Evgeni’s parents to sit in the stands, and he joins them once he’s finished the last of his interviews, stumbling a little in his shoes and sliding down next to Sidney.

Sidney grabs for his hand and laces their fingers, his eyes ahead on the stage.

 _Be patient,_ he says, like that’s even possible. It’s down to the fucking wire, Washington or Pittsburgh, a Capital or a Penguin.

The draft begins with boring speeches and then they’re starting, the Washington staff heading to the stage with a jersey and cap in hand. Evgeni feels like he’s going to faint, his brain feeling like it’s filled to the brim with nervousness.

He’s learned to pick what’s Sidney and what’s him and is surprised to find it’s mostly Sidney, broadcasting so loudly he can barely think.

 _Calm down, Sid. You’re making me nervous,_ he says and Sidney snorts.

 _You’re more nervous than me, it’s all I can feel,_ he snaps back, his leg jiggling. Evgeni puts their hands down on Sidney’s knee, stilling the movement, and Sidney’s fingers squeeze in between his.

This is it.

Sanja is picked first by Washington, and the place erupts and cheers as he makes his way down to the stage, to pull on the jersey and cap and pose like a grinning loon at the cameras. He’s so proud of his friend, standing up and cheering for him, waving madly. He’s bursting with it, and will insist on celebratory drinks once this whole circus is over, for sure.

 _Pittsburgh, then,_ Sidney says once he sits back down.

_Pittsburgh… or Chicago._

_Don’t be stupid, you’re going next. Pittsburgh._

 

As Evgeni hears his name called out, with Lemieux and Therrien and some other faces he doesn’t recognise standing on the stage, all he can hear is Sidney screaming in his head. His nails dig into Evgeni’s arm as he tugs him to stand, launching on him.

(It’s a picture that gets passed around for years to come, his arms wrapped around a teenage Sidney Crosby, both their faces squeezed up in pure joy)

He gets a hug and a kiss from his parents and then Trina and Troy embrace him, and it’s ridiculous but he grabs Sidney again and reels him in, plastering them together and pressing his nose against Sidney’s neck as he tries not to cry.

 _You did so well, Zhenya, I’m so fucking proud of you! I’m so fucking proud of us,_ Sidney gasps out and Evgeni manages to pull back, Sidney’s face a gross shade of red from trying not to cry. He looks like such a fucking mess but Evgeni manages to make it to the stage and shakes Lemieux’s hand ( _MARIO FUCKING LEMIEUX!_ Sidney screams) and he poses for a picture before being ushered off the stage into the mix zone.

There’s more interviews, and he barely remembers what he says while he stammers along, Sidney laughing in his head and unable to sit still. When Sidney and his family make it backstage, there’s more interviews -- asking Sidney and his family what they think, making them both translate for his parents. Everyone’s so happy and so proud, and Evgeni knows he’s going to get crazy wasted tonight as Sanja appears with his family.

He almost elbows Sidney in the face as Sanja flings himself at Evgeni, babbling at him in barely comprehensible Russian.

“So fucking awesome, Zhenya, we’re _awesome!_ ” Sanja screams in his face, and Evgeni doesn’t have any objections, can’t stop laughing and feeling giddy.

*

That night there’s a party in the hotel ballroom with the first round picks and their families -- there’s booze and pizza and drunk parents and drunk kids everywhere. Evgeni’s against one of the lounges, Sidney slumped against him and snoring by 10:30 while Sanja laughs as he grabs for Green, a defender picked as well by Capitals. Sasha Radinov appears with a bottle of Stoli and a pretty girl on his arm.

“We fucking champions!” Sanja yells in Green’s face, who laughs and shoves a beer at him, settling down next to his future teammate.

“We’re gonna get locked out next season, just watch,” one of the Canadians, a rough-looking boy named Ladd, moans from next to Evgeni.

“Delayed rookie season, so what? We still in NHL!” Sanja crows, so loudly he wakes up Sidney, who groans and clutches at his head. He got drunk off champagne and shots early, the loser.

 _Hurts,_ he whines and Evgeni rolls his eyes and passes him another beer.

“Drink more, you feel better,” he says, and Sidney just presses his face against Evgeni’s neck, curling up and starting to snore a few moments later.

“Are you guys…” Green asks, trailing off as he waves a hand at them. Evgeni flushes and Sanja rolls his eyes.

“They want too, but too stupid,” he sniffs, before yelling at Sasha for his Stoli and more shots.

 

Evgeni gets hammered, enjoying his evening with his fellow future rookies, even if they do get locked out, and he wakes up the next morning in a bed with Sidney by his side and a snoring Sanja and Green stretched out on the other bed. How the four of them managed to fit in two beds is beyond him, but he feels disgusting and Sidney’s most definitely going to vomit when he wakes up, so he wants to be out of the projectile zone.

He slips out and heads into the main lounge area of their suite, where there’s a buffet set up (undoubtedly by someone’s parents), and lands on eggs and sausages. By the time he finishes, Sidney’s staggering in, shirtless and pantsless. Evgeni reels him in and Sidney comes, pliant and easy for it, and drops a kiss against Evgeni’s shoulder blade; so simply, like they’re… more.

Sidney just smiles dumbly up at him, and Evgeni’s helpless but to smile back, their bond glowing pinkish red.

“Why is the bond pink?” Evgeni asks, once they’ve finished eating and Sidney’s slumped against his chair, patting his stomach. He stills, and darts his eyes away from Evgeni.

“Uh…” he says, and Evgeni rolls his eyes and moves closer.

“Don’t mind, just… want to know. Been pink for a while now,” he says, reaching out a hand to rest on the table top. He’s over 6’ tall now, the doctors say he’ll end up a few inches taller than that, and Sidney’s seemingly plateaued to be shorter than him. He likes it, likes Sidney fitting in comfortably against him. Likes everything about Sidney, it seems.

He’s leaking too much across the bond, and Sidney flushes. Evgeni goes to pull his hand back, overstepping his boundaries it seems, but easier to come back from this than pushing through and ruining everything -- but Sidney grabs it, and laces their fingers together.

“I like you too, I mean-- it’s. Uh...”

Evgeni doesn’t think as he leans over, using his spare hand to tug Sidney closer. His eyes flutter closed as Evgeni gets closer, his lips slick and parted, waiting for him. When they kiss, it’s like… there’s no words in the world to describe the feeling. How it feels, flooding through the bond, the rush and pull of it. Sidney moans against his mouth and stands up, pushing Evgeni back into his seat and straddling his lap, Evgeni’s hands resting on his hips.

“Geno, fuck,” he breathes, moving to Evgeni’s neck, tipping his head back. He sucks a bruise along his jugular, follows it up with his tongue, laving along his skin. It’s the most action he’s had in months, Sidney’s body writhing against his.

“Sid, you-- shit, I--” he tries, but Sidney grabs his face and kisses him again, deep and all consuming, their bond going off like fireworks behind his eyelids.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for years, oh my God,” Sidney breathes out, licking at Evgeni’s bottom lip and sucking it between his own, pushing down hard and purposeful.

“Sid, Sanja and Green in next room, not a good idea--” he chokes out, and Sidney leans back a little, his fingers pressing against Evgeni’s shoulders.

“I want you to fuck me,” he says, and Evgeni groans and brings his hands up to cup Sidney’s face. How the fuck is he supposed to survive next season if he keeps saying shit like that?

“Sid, almost eighteen… I’m go to jail if anyone finds out,” he whimpers as Sidney keeps up his grind, his ridiculous thighs clenching every few rotations.

“ _Almost_ eighteen, not just yet,” Sidney says, licking a path up Evgeni’s neck. It should be disgusting but oh man, it’s probably the hottest thing anyone’s ever done to him.

He hesitates, so close to the edge, and he squeezes his eyes shut and seeks out Sidney’s mouth, chasing the sounds with his tongue.

“Okay,” he says and Sidney hums. Evgeni’s fingers dig into his ass as their cocks rub, the friction perfect.

It has to stop when Sanja and Green come staggering out, bleary eyed and hungover, stopping at the edge of the room and taking in Evgeni’s awkward crossed-legged positioning and Sidney’s bitten lips, squirming in the seat next to him.

“We’re gonna go out for breakfast,” Green says, grabbing Sanja’s arm and yanking him towards the doorway. Sanja raises an eyebrow and Evgeni manages a smile, and only then Sanja lets himself be taken out. As soon as the door closes, Sidney grabs his hand and drags him back into the bedroom, shoving him down on a bed and rooting through his suitcase.

He emerges victorious with a small bottle of lube and throws it on the bed, stripping out of his boxers and pulling Evgeni’s off.

“Do me, fucking _do me_ ,” he chants, kissing Evgeni until their worlds are just wet and slick, grabbing the lube and coating his fingers with it.

Sidney climbs off and lies down on his back, wriggling back to get closer to Evgeni.

“Just-- do it, I _need_ you, Geno,” Sidney gasps out, pushing on Evgeni’s fingers as he wraps them around Sidney’s dick. By the time he speeds up, Sidney’s almost unable to speak, writhing and panting underneath him, their bond sparking with bright red and golden yellow between them, emotion overwhelming him.

He fumbles for a second -- no condom -- but Sidney grabs at his hand and shakes his head, breathing hard. Sidney’s his bondmate, can hear his muted curses and can see everything in Evgeni’s mind’s eye, everything he wants to do to Sidney and everything he wants done back.

“No condom,” he says, and Evgeni swears long and hard, before using his fingers to work into Sidney, scissoring him open and then covering himself. He lines up at Sidney’s hole and rubs the head along it, watching as Sidney whimpers for him.

“ _Please,_ ” he begs, and Evgeni’s never been good at denying Sidney.

 

It doesn’t last long, but Evgeni’s got hopes for a few more rounds before their obligations begin, so he doesn’t mourn their first time much. Sidney comes first, his hips pumping in a devastating rhythm, his fingers wrapped around his dick before he shudders and tightens around Evgeni. It punches its way out of Evgeni and he gasps out for Sidney across their bond, coming hard and deep inside him.

He flops down on Sidney, heaving for air, and manages to pull out and roll over. Sidney’s still lying in the wet patch, breathing hard.

He turns his head to look at Evgeni, his eyes glazed over.

“Fucking amazing,” he gets out after a few tries, and Evgeni huffs out a laugh and pats him.

“Give me ten minutes, we go again,” Evgeni says, and Sidney’s eyes go dark and hungry.

 _Yes,_ he says, trailing his fingers over Evgeni’s chest, until he laces them together.

 

* * *

 

They’re locked out, because of course they are, Ladd’s prediction coming true. Evgeni’s first fucking season in the NHL and he has to wait; maybe half a season, maybe a whole year. Regardless, he’s headed back to Rimouski with Sidney -- except now he’s eighteen.

His birthday had been huge in Russia -- all his friends and family came over, and then they headed out clubbing and drinking all night, Sidney tucked against his side. Sanja had even made the trip down. While he couldn’t remember most of the night, after waking up the next morning snoring and drooling on Sidney, Sanja on the floor with his girlfriend, he knew he’d had a good time.

He tells himself that courting Sidney a little more would’ve been a good idea, because they’re bonded and they’re going to be famous and in the spotlight; Sidney even more so than him, and taking it slow is always a good thing -- even if they’ve already had sex a few times.

He explains this to Sidney in the aftermath of their first failed date -- Sidney grinding against him in the car, frustrated from being in a billet house and never alone. Evgeni got a new ride and Sidney had insisted they christen it and almost gets his wish after dinner and a movie, Evgeni having to shove him across the car before he comes all over the uphoulstery.

“I don’t fucking care-- please, just… fuck, let me touch you,” Sidney whines. Evgeni moans; in fury or sexual frustration, he can’t tell.

“I don’t want mess on car seats, on _pants_ \--”

“Nobody’s going to find out! And we’re going so fucking slow-- c’mon, _please_ just let me blow you, I’m gonna come in like, ten seconds...”

He doesn’t stop Sidney when he bends over and undoes his jeans, silently thankful for the car park being secluded and getting extra tinting on his windows. He spills into Sidney’s mouth minutes later, trailing sticky kisses along Evgeni’s neck and jaw while Evgeni works him until he comes, wiping it off with an old hockey sock tucked under his seat.

“Gross,” he says and Sidney laughs, leaving his hand on Evgeni’s thigh the drive home.

*

He didn’t get to speak to Sanja until well into the new season, and the first few weeks of hockey back in Rimouski are filled with media obligations, interviews, photos and training, so when he finally gets a moment to ring his best friend, Sanja greets him with a laugh.

“So you tried to court him and failed…”

Evgeni rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t fail, I just figured out that fully courting wasn’t necessary. We’re bonded, and I can tell what he’s thinking and feeling all the time… and vice versa. We can do this, be together, and make it work. I feel good about it, and so does Sid,” he says. Sanja snorts.

“Sounds to me like you couldn’t resist his fat ass and bad accent.”

“Sounds like you’re a fat ass and stupid accent,” Evgeni snaps, and Sanja laughs again.

“Ah, Zhenya, how I’ve missed these witty ripostes.”

 

Hockey is kept separate from this development, of course, not wanting to let it get out that they were _together_ together. Not after the years of shit they’d gotten for just being bonded, of the attention on Sidney as the face of the game and Evgeni as one of the top draft picks of the year. He feels sad sometimes, not being able to kiss Sidney when they’re out in public, but they more than make up for it behind closed doors.

“I’m not embarrassed of you, G, you know that. It’s just… different,” Sidney said before the season started, and Evgeni agreed; of course he did. He knew exactly what he meant, and was just as worried. The potential for them to fuck things up -- to _get_ fucked up -- because of all of this? Too great to take unnecessary risks, that was for sure.

The team doesn’t seem to suspect anything and Evgeni keeps his eyes and hands to himself, hanging out with the other guys whenever he can, sitting a few seats away from Sidney and only allowing himself to really look when everyone’s busy, or it’s just them.

“Let’s go home,” most nights end with Sidney whispering into his ear, or across the bond, and Evgeni’s always powerless to stop him.

 

* * *

 

Worlds starts on Christmas this year, which is a fucking travesty, and they’re forced to celebrate early with Sidney’s family before flying to Grand Forks together -- Sidney as part of team Canada, and Evgeni with Russia. It’s their first time at a tournament together, but they still need suppressants -- the Bond Authorities have a presence at the game to ensure no cross-country cheating. Not that they would, but whatever.

“Hate Bond Authority,” Evgeni grumps when they arrive in Grand Forks, kitted out in their national gear and wandering through the terminal to the baggage claim.

“Yeah, well, they’re there for a reason I guess,” Sidney mutters, and they say goodbye once they get their bags.

 _Be safe,_ Sidney says and Evgeni nods, wishing he could kiss Sidney. They’d had their proper farewell the night before and spent all morning in bed together, kissing and touching -- trying to get their fill as quietly as possible in the Crosby household.

 

Grand Forks is boring as fuck and he’s rooming with Sanja again, spending most of his time with the Russian team, practising and eating together and enjoying being amongst his own people. There’s none of the bullshit there was when he first started, nobody seeming to care who he’s bonded too -- beyond a few chirps about being Crosby’s bitch, which he took with dignity before breaking out wrestling matches.

He’s wishing he could talk to Sidney across their bond sometimes, as opposed to texting and having clandestine meetings, sneaking out the dorm rooms after everyone’s gone to sleep.

“Not much longer,” Sidney says on New Years, Sanja having disappeared with a few of the d-men, Evgeni texting him as soon as he left.

They ring in New Years together curled up in Evgeni’s bed, kissing each other slowly, Evgeni’s fingers tucked underneath Sidney’s shirt. It’s probably his favourite New Years ever, even though he’s sober and only with one other person.

 

The final comes down to Russia and Canada, and it’s so bizarre lining up against Sidney at the dot, watching his bondmate and lover so focussed on hockey. It’s gorgeous and all-consuming, and he gives as good as he gets -- checking rough and fighting for the puck every inch of the game, but it’s not enough and Russia loses, getting the silver. He watches Sidney being given the gold medal, watches him bend down to receive it, smiling like it’s fucking draft day and he’s gone number one. It hurts not to win, especially since he knows how it feels to come first, to win a gold medal in something.

“Your bondmate is amazing,” Sanja sighs as they file off the ice into the dressing room. Evgeni nods and pulls the tape off his legs, sinking back into his stall.

“It sucks sometimes, in situations like this, because he’s so great and I never want to play against him, but I know I’ll have to. It’s not about me, though. It’s something bigger, I guess,” he says. Sanja nods, even though they don’t understand each other -- not on this, anyway.

 

“Will you bond?” he asks later, after showers and dinner, the suppressants starting to wear off. He can feel Sidney out drinking and partying with his team, celebrating their win. Sanja’s flopped on his bed, yawning loudly and opining for his latest girlfriend, Alyonka.

“I don’t know,” Sanja says, turning his head to face Evgeni. Sanja’s a year older than Evgeni, but they’ve been equals for so long, it doesn’t feel like it. He’s nineteen and has spent most of his life in the same settings as Evgeni -- until they went to that camp, anyway.

“I’ve seen how the bond has affected you. I still hate Crosby for what he did to you,” Sanja says, and Evgeni makes a face.

“He didn’t do anything, Sanja. If anything, I should be hated for what _I_ did to him. Like, how dare I bond to Sidney Crosby, future savior of hockey.”

“Zhenya, don’t say shit like that. You’re an amazing hockey player, one of the greats. You’ve had more attention since you got bonded, but fuck it. Use it to your advantage. The spotlight is on you, but what do you have to prove? You play amazing hockey with Crosby, you’ve won a gold for Russia… you will probably win the season with Rimouski. You’re on the right path, Zhenya, and you’re going to do great things. Whether I bond… doesn’t matter. If I bond to a hockey player, or I bond to a normal person, then that’s what happens. If I don’t bond at all, it doesn’t matter either. I’m just happy being alive and healthy.”

It’s probably the most maudlin he’s ever heard Sanja and he laughs, jumping on his friend and smothering him, hugging him tightly.

“Thank you for being such a great friend all these years, Sanja. It means more to me than you know,” he says when they’re getting ready for bed.

Sanja scoffs and throws a dirty sock at him.

“I’m the best friend you’ll ever have, Zhenya. Don’t forget it.”

 

* * *

 

Jack’s gone out for ice when Evgeni turns up at Sidney’s room on draft day, so he sits on the end of Sidney’s bed as he stands in front of him, fingers digging into Evgeni’s shoulders.

“We’re gonna be Penguins,” Sidney rasps, and Evgeni’s fingers slide up the side of his legs, underneath his shorts, against blood-heated thighs. Sidney’s body is continuing to blossom, his bottom half constantly making Evgeni’s mouth water, his lips and his chest and biceps all worthy of praise and adoration. Evgeni’s all long limbs and thin, reedy muscle -- his arms the only thing worth any sort of attention. He’s trying to work on his chest, making himself thicker and more solid, but nothing sticks so far, no matter what he tries.

“We gonna be together,” Evgeni continues, and Sidney leans forward a little to kiss him. His bond pendant slips out from under his tee, and Evgeni’s fingers leave their ministrations and come to tug at the pendant, swiping his thumb along the worn silver.

 _We’ve been bonded since we were twelve… or well, thirteen in my case, but. It’s been a long fucking time, Sid,_ he thinks and Sidney nods, his fingers tangled in Evgeni’s hair.

He’s let it grow out a little, just like Sidney likes, the hair curling at the edges on his nape and around his ears. He should cut it but Sidney thinks it looks hot long, so he’s left it. He does a lot for Sidney, he’s noticed. He always has, and probably always will.

 _You’ve watched me grow up from being a punk kid into this… whatever this is,_ he continues and Sidney laughs.

_You were never a punk, Geno. I expected way too much from you. You taught me not to let myself be so penned in. You definitely got the worse end of the deal._

Evgeni grumbles and pulls Sidney closer, pressing his face against Sidney’s midsection and breathing in. Sidney’s happy, so happy it’s all in his head and spreading to his limbs, infectious in the best way.

“C’mon, you gotta go before Jack gets back. He gets weird about this stuff,” Sidney chides out loud, but refuses to let go to Evgeni’s hair. Evgeni looks up, tilting his chin and Sidney gives in like he always does, leaning down to press soft, chaste kisses against Evgeni’s lips.

 _Mmmm,_ Evgeni thinks, wishing they had more time and more privacy. Jack takes that opportunity to come stomping down the corridor, loudly announcing his arrival. By the time he gets inside, Evgeni’s standing up and pulling his shoes on while Sidney watches, the longing on his face hard to hide.

“You’re going to spend the rest of your lives playing hockey together, what’s an afternoon?” Jack chirps as Evgeni leaves, pressing his fingers against Sidney’s hips and joining the rest of his family on another floor.

*

The draft goes exactly as expected. Sidney’s convinced the Penguins won’t waste their number one draft pick on a sure thing, digging his fingers under Evgeni’s thigh in an effort to stop himself picking at his cuticles, and when Mario and Ray call out Sidney’s name for the number one pick, he thinks Sidney’s the only one surprised in the entire fucking hotel.

There’s only the top twenty prospects, sitting in a hotel ballroom due to the lockout. It’s not the reception Sidney deserves when he receives his cap and jersey, but it’s the one he gets.

Evgeni makes his mind up to give him a much better one tonight, exiling Jack so they can celebrate. He wants to wait until they get back to Halifax for the real event, choosing to stay here so Sidney can celebrate his eighteenth on Canadian soil this year, but a blowjob won’t go astray. He deserves _something_ , that’s for sure.

He finds Sidney later, watching as his bondmate hugs his parents and Taylor, who is growing up into the beautiful young lady Evgeni’s spent half her life telling her she’ll become. She’s taken to chirping him viciously in Russian whenever Sidney isn’t around to tell her off as well, which both elates and disturbs him.

Sidney’s glowing, his head a mess of almost inexplicably joy and lightness, and Evgeni knows exactly how he feels and why.

After all the shit, after years of muddling through two countries and two children growing into something more together, the cumulation of all their hard work is this. Is here and now, with the Penguins organisation.

They’re top two draft picks by the same team, their futures written in ink together, their souls linked by a crazy magical bond, echoed by the pendants hanging around their necks. He thinks they’ll probably get married before they’re thirty, if things keep going well, and there’ll be small children running around and keeping them busy before they’re forty. It’s a nice picture, one Sidney’s too delirious to notice. He just hugs him and kisses his temple, whispers that he’ll get a proper reward tonight and watches as he goes bright pink and elbows him away.

Mario and Ray pose for photos with both of them and Sidney starts his whole bond spiel, playing down his own abilities and talking about Evgeni being drafted first. Evgeni’s about to punch him in the side before Mario gets there.

“Sidney, why would we use a number one draft pick on a sure thing? Unless we wanted you and everyone else to know that we value your skill, your dedication and your abilities as the number one player in this competition,” Mario says, and Sidney goes so red that Evgeni is worried about his blood pressure.

They have dinner together after Sidney spends an _hour_ being interviewed by basically every newspaper and online blog in the known hockey world; the Penguins staff and the Crosbys and Evgeni eventually get to eat together.

Mario tells him they’re fully prepared for their bond as their steaks are being served. Evgeni’s next to him, which is stupid-- Sidney’s the one who got drafted this year, it should be him, but Sidney had shoved him into the seat and tried to get Taylor to sit without too much fuss.

“We’ve got you the best bond consultants in the world for you two, and anything you need we want to provide. You’re our future, and we want to take care of you,” he says, and Evgeni’s at a loss for words.

“It’s been a hard ride, we know. We know your history-- know you bonded so young, and everything that you went through to get here. But you’re here now. You made it.”

“I-- uh, wow,” Evgeni stammers, and Sidney leans over him to smile at Mario.

“We appreciate it, more than you can know. Especially that we get to be rookies together,” Sidney says, and Evgeni laughs.

“Confident we make it through camp alive?” he chirps, and Sidney rolls his eyes and withdraws.

“I think it’s a sure thing you two will make it through camp alive,” Mario says, turning back to his wife and his dinner. Evgeni drops a hand under the table and fumbles for Sidney’s, squeezing tightly.

 

“We did it, Geno,” Sidney says later that night, tucked together in Evgeni’s bed while Taylor snores in the one across from them.

“We did,” Evgeni echoes, kissing Sidney’s temple.

_Six years together, and we actually did it. We’re in the show. We made it._

_I can’t believe it’s been that long, it’s gone so fast…_ Evgeni sighs. Sidney wriggles against him, throwing a thigh across his lap and dropping a kiss on the curve of his jaw.

 _I can’t wait for the next sixty,_ he says, knocking the breath out of Evgeni at the thought.

The truth is, neither can he and he can’t hide it, given how pleased the bond turns -- how sweet and syrupy everything feels right now.

 _Yes,_ he agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> Consider the usual warnings that come along with soulbond fic. There’s some underaged stuff but nothing explicit until they're old enough; I know that can be squicky for some. There's also a scene where a character overdoses (accidentally) on bond suppressants and ends up in hospital. 
> 
> Key terms:
> 
>  _Bondmate:_ To describe the bond partner  
>  _Bond Authority:_ The overarching government body that regulates and manages bond activity across the globe, part of the United Nations  
>  _B.O.N.D officer:_ Employees for the Bond Authority that carry out the day-to-day work  
>  _Tier:_ Bonds are split across six tiers in this universe, one being the weakest and six being a ‘complete’ bond. I have a really depressing vignette about Anastasia Nikolaevna and her bondmate Dimitri being a tier six that never made it in :(


End file.
